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THE WIND OF DEATH, 



BY- 



<]ROSE C. FALLS. t> 



ESTABLISHED 1847. 

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rntercd accoidinp to the Ad of CorgrfSP, in the year 1893, by Rose C. Falls, in the 
office of the Librarian of Corgress. at Washington. 



CHENIERE^^CAMINADA 



OR 



THE WIND OF DEATH 



THE STORY OF THE STORM IN 
LOUISIANA. 



By ROSE C. FALLS. 



Hopkins' Peinting Ofuce, 20 & 22 Commebcial Place. 

ises. 






\' 



TO 

ROBERT BLEAKLEY, 

CHAIRMAN OF THE CITIZENS' RELIEF 
COMMITTEE, 

and his colleagues, members of that Committee, 

whose prompt action, untiring energy 

and generous humanity will ever 

be blessed by the helpless and 

homeless, 

This Work is Respectfully Dedicated 



BY- 



THE AUTHOR. 



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CHAPTER I. 

CHENIERE CAMINADA. "^ 

The gulf coast of Louisiana, that stretch of level sea marsh 
and sluggish bayou, is rich in song and story. It lives in the pages 
of both romance and history, and fact and fancy are so interwoven 
there that they cannot be separated. The pitiful story of Evange- 
line reads like fact, while the true tale of the whispering sands of 
Pascagoula sounds like the wildest flight of fancy. It was on this 
coast that was made one of the only two landings on our shores of 
a foreign foe; and from its low-lyiug islands came the pirate Lafitte 
to offer his services, in her hour of peril, to his country, which had 
proscribed him for his crimes in the time of peace. But these 
islands of the coast have changed since the days of Lafitte . The 
"long, low, rakish schooner," has been replaced by the lugger of 
the oysterman, and the inhabitants are hardy fisherman, "toilers of 
the sea," instead of black bearded free-booters of the deep. Those 
who peopled these islands and the adjacent coasts were of almost 
every race and nation of the earth. The Anglo-Saxon, the Malay, 
the Creole, the Negro, the Austrian, the Italian, the Chinaman, the 
Spaniard, the German, were all to be found there . 

There they reared their "camps," or fishing huts, on piles to 
have them beyond the reach of the high spring tides; there they 
brought their wives and reared their children and made that 
"home," which evei'y man, no matter what his race, must have. 
The blue waters of the gulf was the field of their labor, and the 
city of New Orleans, a half a hundred miles away, and reached by 
way of the tortuous bayous, was the market for their finny spoil . 

A sturdy, happy people they were, strong in their affections, 
proud in their self-reliance, open-hearted in their hospitality, 
ready to share, with the needy, their substance, and asking 
naught save a just return for their hard and often dangerous 
labor. 

As the population increased it naturally grouped itself into 
communities, and Grand Isle, Cheniere Caminada, Grand Terra, 
and the many other fishing settlements in what was collectively 
known as "the Barataria Country," were the result. 

Sunday, October 1st, 18'J3, dawned upon this section of 
Louisiana, and the sun rose, 

"Not, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, 
But one unclouded blaze of living light," 

and it ne'er shown on people happier or more peaceful. Fish- 
ing tackle and all the implements of week day toil were put 
aside, and the bronzed fishermen enjoyed the sweet association of 
their wives and little ones . 

The Gulf was uncommonly smooth — no breath raised a ripple 
on its surface, but there was a ceaseless, gentle swell, as if, 



amid the coral beds beneath, some lonely water spirit slum- 
bered, while the waters above rose and fell with its steady 
breathing. From the swamps about the morning songs of 
myriads of birds ascended, as they flitted to and fro among the 
moss draped trees, and when the Sun rose higher in the Heav- 
ens the waters of the currentless bayous were parted by the 
heads of lazy alligators, that came to the surface to wink and 
blink at the sunshine . 

There was enrapturing consonance of sound and sight, of 
woodland song and sea shore scenery. It was a morning to 
kindle a poet's fancy — calm and unruffled as a martyr's mind, 
and bright as the hope that animates his busom. But as the 
day waned, the scene was changed. Clouds chased each other 
across the blue of the Heavens and grew darker and more an- 
gry looking as the evening approached. The shadows in the 
swamps grew black and the murmiu'ing of the moss draped 
limbs of the trees grew louder and louder. Sea birds skimmed 
across the water and sent forth frightened cries. The alliga- 
tors sank to tbe bottom of the bayous, and the birds sought 
their nests with plaintive trills. The fishermen gathered their 
loved ones into the shelter of their homes and said: "a storm 
is brewing." 

But little they knew the devastation that would be the re- 
sult of that storm to which they so carelessly referred, and still 
less they apprehended of the horrors of the night which was then 
wrapping its mantle of darkness about the devoted islands . All 
but one . 

Among these fisher-folk of Cheniere Camimda who noted 
the gathering storm was Andre Gilbeaux. Even while tbe sun 
was shining in the cloudless sky Gilbeaux sent out and summon- 
ed his relatives and friends to a banquet at sundown in his hum- 
ble but happy home. They came, filled with anticipations 'of 
innocent enjoyment and gathered at the festal board. 

The banquet was over, and, just as the sun sank beneath the 
waves the laughter and jest was stilled as the host rose to his 
feet with a glass of wine in his hand. At the sight of the expres- 
sion on his face the smiles which had come to greet his expected 
toast died away, and a death-like silence fell upon all, leaving 
the ripple of the waters on the shelving shore and the rustling 
of the wind-waved marsh grass the only sounds. 

Raising his glass, in a calm, collected voice he said: 

"Gentlemen, this will be the last time we will be together, 
for to-night I will drown. There will be confipanions with me 
in my death. You may think that I am crazy, but I cannot help 
that, for I am firmly convinced that a watery death will be mine. 
I will now toast to all, and hope peace and rest will be mine. 
May God bless all that remain behind, and peace to my compan- 
ions' ashes that will die with me." 



Andre had always been a quiet, sober, self-contained man of 
evenly balanced mind and warm affections, a fond husband and 
a kind father. But now his friends thought his mind unbal- 
anced, and his wife, the tears streaming from her eyes, implored 
his friend Seikard Gaspard (who survived to tell the tale) to dis- 
suade her husband from the sin of self-destruction. Gilbeaux 
declared that suicide was far from his thoughts, but that others 
as well as himself would meet death in the waves, and he indi- 
cated who of those around the board would go with him into the 
valley of the shadow of death; and, strange aa it may seem, he 
foretold correctly. Even as he spoke the dark clouds began to 
gather in the evening sky and moaning wind and heaving waters 
began to tell of the coming storm . The party scattered to their 
homes, and then the storm burst forth. Gilbeaux and his brother 
endeavored to save themselves and Gilbeaux's wife and children 
in a boat when the rising waters covered their island home. But 
Gilbeaux's prophecy was destined to be fulfilled. The boat was 
overturned and only Gilbeaux's brother lived to tell the tale. 

Cheniere Caminada, often spoken of as an island, is really 
a peninsular, jutting into the waters of the Gulf of Mexico to the 
west of Grand Isle, and joined to the mainland by a marshy 
isthmus which is often covered by water. It is all sand and sea 
marsh and rises but a few feet above the gulf. There is no veg- 
etation on it save a few stunted bushes, and its only inhabitants 
are the fishermen and their families. 

Although less than a mile wide and but about two miles and 
a half long its population numbered on that fateful day 1471 
soiib. 




A TYPICAL. FISHERMAN'S H€T. 

When the night came they retired to their homes, built, as 
described, on piles or "pickets" as they called them, and prepared 
for the day of toil they looked for on the morrow by seeking the 
repose that comes to him who labors for his bread. Parents 



stilled the little ones who were terrified by the rising wind and 
the waves, which were now dashing far beyond their accus- 
tomed limits and were washing with ever increasing fury 
around the slender supports of the houses. But minute by 
minute the storm increased. The wind blew stronger and 
stronger until it swept across devoted Cheniere a hundred and 
fifteen miles an hour; and the water, churned to a foam by the 
merciless storm king, rolled across the whole peninsular in 
towering waves which beat on the frail homes of thin board 
and fragile latania like hammers of destruction. At last the 
assaults of the elements began to tell upon these frail habita- 
tions, built only for such slight protection as was ordinarily 
needed in that land of perennial summer. 




A RVINKO HOnifi AT chenigre:. 

Following the sweep of some wave mightier than its fellows, 
or some blast which shrieked across the sedge grown morass 
like a demon of destruction, would come a crash, which told of 
the ruin of a happy home. Torn plank from plank by the wind 
it was scattered in the inky darkness, or, beaten from its sup- 
porting piles by the angry sea, it disappeared in the raging 
waters, and its occupants were face to face with death. For a 
while the husband and father would make an unequal strug- 
gle with death for his loved ones, and then all would go 
down in the storm lashed water. Again and again was this 
scene repeated, and family after family, father, mother and 
children, all, found eternal peace amid the warring of the ele- 
ments, while their bodies were swept toward the marsh of the 
mainland. Then came a lull and the inexperienced hoped 
that the worst was over. But nature was but resting for a 
mightier effort than she had yet put forth. Again came the 
wind, this time from off the land; and again the waters swept 
Cheniere. The debris of the homes previously wrecked, with 
the huge trunks of trees torn from the earth on the shore 



— 8 -^ 

north of the Cheniere, battered down the dwellings which had 
withstood the first assault, while a ghastly procession of white 
faced corpses drifted by out to sea. When morning broke and 
the sun again looked down on the storm-swept strip of sand, 
it shown upon but five houses, all that was left of the five 
hundred that dotted the peninsular the evening before. 

One of the few survivors was Pere Grimaux, the Roman 
Catholic priest of Cheniere Caminada. The account he gave 
a reporter of the destruction of his parish and the havoc in his 
flock was graphic and terrible The good priest said: 

"The population of Cheniere Caminada island was 1471. Of 
these 696 only are now living; 779 are dead. Historic Cheniere 
Caminada is no more. The first effects of the storm were felt 
between 7 and 8 p. m. on Sunday. Everyone apprehended 
that something terrible was about to happen. The fishermen 
foreseeing that a serious storm was evident, hastened to beach 
their craft near their houses. But those precautions availed 
not, for the wind blew in fitful gusts, increasing in strength 
and velocity every minute, coming from the south. At 7:30 p. 
m. huge waves were madly lashing the shore, and in a few 
minutes they had attained a height of six feet, and later on of 
eight feet. There was one avenue of safety, and that was to 
seek the upper stories of the houses, but even that chance for 
escape was lost, when the wind and waves combined shook the 
frail habitations, which rocked to and fro and creaked and 
groaned under the repeated attacks of the furious elements. 
Soon the houses were being demolished, wrecked and carried 
away. The wind shifted to the southeast, and for hours shrieked 
with redoubled fury. Above the thundering voice of the hur- 
ricane could be heard the despairing cries, the groans and the 
frantic appeals for help of the unfortunate victims. 

"I was in the upper story of the presbytery, holding on to 
the sill of an open window, powerless to do anything and 
exposed to the terrific blasts and hearing the cries of agony of 
my poor dying parishioners. A more furious attack of the 
storm broke off one-half of the roof. Notwithstanding the 
wind, I managed to light a lantern, which I displayed at the 
window, to serve as a beacon for those who might be fortunate 
enough to swim or to be cast towards the presbytery. Then I 
leaned forward and holding up my hands over the waste of 
waters, I offered a fervent prayer to the Father of all and beg- 
ged of him to be merciful in his judgment on the souls of so 
many of his children who were at that moment dying in such 
a sudden and terrible manner. 

"I gave them all the final absolution of the Roman Cath- 
olic church. 

"Then there was a sudden ominous lull in the storm. I 
felt that the worst was yet to come. It was then about 11 



o'clock and I saw blacker and denser masses of clouds, swiftly 
rolling from the southeast towards our doomed island. There 
was something really appalling in that deceptive column. 
However, those few minutes of rest were precious and saved 
the lives of many people. 

"Brave, sturdy men went out in skiffs and rowed from 
house to house, taking in such of the inhabitants as had es- 
caped the first onslaught of the tempest. Many of these peo- 
ple sought shelter in two or three houses known to be solidlj' 
built, and this proved eventually their salvation, and in that 
way nearly 700 persons survived that fearful night. 




FATHER GRIMEAUX. 

"During the lull I looked out of the window and saw a 
young boy about 11 years old, clinging to a piece of timber 
and floating toward the presbytery. I called out to the men 
in the skiffs and told them to save that young life. But fate 
decreed otherwise. Just then the storm burst again with ter- 
rific violence and carried off the little fellow, to be seen no 
more. The wind had shifted and now blew from the west. 
Whatever of life and property had been spared by the south 
wind was destroyed by the gale from the west. Trees were 
saapped like reedsj houses were wrecked in an instant, and 



6oon tte Cheniere ceased to exist. Out of 450 houses only 
four remained, and these were filled with crowds of trembling, 
despairing people, bewailing not only their own sad, pitiful 
plight, but crying out the names of loved ones carried away 
by the merciless floods. All around and about me I could 
see desolation, death, ruin and wreck. Houses floated by and 
were seen no more. The church soon followed, I remained 
alone. 

"As far as I could see there was not a vestige of any hu- 
man habitation. Under my window the seething waters flowed 
madly on and I could see amidst the wreckage and the sea- 
weed a number of bodies floating on and on out of view. 1 
could not count them. It seemed to me like an endless, 
ghastly, horrible procession of spectres. Unable to bear that 
terrible sight any more, I closed my eyes and leaning my fore- 
head on my hand, realized that everything was inextricably 
lost. I never dreamed that I would live through that horrible 
ordeal. 

"Again I heard those heart-rending cries. Looking on by 
a strong effort of will power, I saw floating past women and 
children, some of the women holding in their arms their in- 
fants, while some of those unfortunate young ones were tightly 
grasping the dresses of their mothers. Not a few were clutch- 
ing even the arms and tresses of the women. Ever and anon 
one of the little victims, apparently Worn out, would release 
his hold and be quickly carried away by the raging waters 
after a last frantic adieu. 

"A large number of people were'saved by holding on to 
floating debris, such as parts of roofs, timbers, etc. Some of 
them were considerably bruised and injured, but their lives 
were^spared, and when morning dawned and the storm had 
somewhat abated, they painfully found their way to houses in 
which their relatives and friends had found refuge during that 
eventful night. 

"A young boy named Cyriac Prosperi was found on these a 
shore two days and one night after the storm. He was de- 
prived of his clothing by the storm. His only sustenance was 
an orange that had drifted in his way. 

"On Monday about 3 a. m. the storm was over. My sister 
and myself knelt down and thanked the sacred heart of Jesus 
and Our Lady of Good Help for our safety. We had invoked 
them in our hour of peril and to them we owed our deliver- 
ance. At day break three men came to the presbytery and 
gave us a ladder to enable us to descend . Then a weary walk 
began . We waded in water waist deep, our feet sinking into 
the soil, thus adding to our discomfort and thus impeding our 
progress. We were on our way to succor the unfortunate 
people. Not a word was spoken; we looked at each other; we 



understood what was to be done; tears welled up to our eyes 
as we went along beholding new and untold miseries at every 
step. 

"Monday and Tuesday we hardly rested, being occupied in 
burying the dead. Moi*e than 400 corpses wei-e unburied. 
Many could not be found for they had been carried out to the 
gulf. On Tuesday, more aflQiction. We began to feel the want 
of fresh water: then we realized also that we had no provis- 
ions. The exciteme'nt and the exertion in giving burial to the 
hundreds of dead people had made us forgetful of our own 
physical wants. Now we felt exhausted and at night we were 
completely prostrated. The odor emanating from the dead 
bodies, both of man and beast, made the situation all the more 
unbearable . 

"The arrival ot two boats laden with ice was hailed with 
joy. We lost no time in melting the ice and mixing it with a 
small proportion of salt water so as to increase the quantity. 
Other boats came from the city with provisions donated by the 
charitable people of New Orleans. 

"This relief was timely, for we had saved nothing at all 
from the destructive storm. 

"Houses had been swept away, luggers, schooners, boats of 
all description had been lost. We could only lay claim to a 
few tattered bits of clothing. 

"The people of Cheniere and Grand Isle fervently hope and 
trust that the kind-hearted people of this State will hasten to 
send them the relief that is so imperatively and immediately 
needed. 

"Most of the inhabitants of the Cheniere are very poor peo- 
ple, fishermen, whose only worldly possessions were their huts 
and their boats. These they have lost and how will they be 
able to earn their living? Who will come to their aid and 
help them to rebuild their humble abodes?" 

This was no overdrawn picture, as was seen by the rescu- 
ing parties which went from New Orleans when the tale of de- 
struction reached that city two days later, and whose work 
will be told later on. On Monday the few survivors, worn out 
by their long and terrible battle for life, found and buried one 
hundred and fifty bodies; and then exhausted nature gave out, 
the efforts to render the last duty to the dead ceased, and they 
threw themselves on the bare sands to wait the rescue they 
hardly dared hope for, or the death which now stared them in 
the face in another form. The salt waves which had covered 
the Cheniere had swept to sea every mouthful of food and 
every drop of fresh water; for these people had neither wells 
nor springs, and drank only rain water caught and stored in 
cask-like cisterns of staves and hoops, which stood above 
ground. Six hundred human beings, men, women and chil- 



— 12 — 

dren, on this strip of sand, cut off from the mainland by im- 
passable marshes, with their boats destroyed and the nearest 
help over fifty miles away as the crow flies, near a hundred by 
the bayous, the only avenue of communication, and no means 
of making their plight known ! Can the hum^in imagination 
picture a condition more terrible ? For twenty-four awful 
hours no help arrived. Thei* a lugger which had gone to New 
Orleans before the storm for ice, with which these fishermen 
preserved their catch, returned. This ice was the salvation of 
the people who had escaped the fury of the tempest. It was 
quickly melted, and mixed with sea water to increase 
its quantity, it was nectar to the thirst-tormented sur- 
vivors. Then came twenty-four hours more of suffer- 
iug before help came from the city . Kevived by the water, 
the living began again to bury the dead. This had to 
be done in the most primitive manner. There was no lumber to 
make cofiins, acd neither nails nor tools to use, had there been 
lumber; there were not even implements with which to dig the 
graves. 5 Long trenches were scooped in the sand with broken 
boards and sticks and even with the bare hands of the 
toilers, and ten, fifteen, twenty, even thirty bodies were laid in 
the same grave, with only mother earth for their winding sheet 
and the gently lapping waters of the gulf for their funeral 
service . 

One of the mostly ghastly scenes after the flood was the little 
cemetery. The ruthless water had respected "God's Acre" no 
more than it did the possessions of man, and the resting places 
of the dead were shattered as were the dwellings of the living. 
Tombs were rent asunder, graves were torn open, crosses and 
monuments and headstones were destroyed. Even the crumb- 
ling bones of the dead were torn from their resting places and 
scattered over the sites of the ruined homes of their descend- 
ants. Great trunks of trees, foul smelling seaweed, timbers torn 
from the houses and the flotsom and jetsam of the surging waters 
were strewn in tangled chaos "where the rude forefathers of the 
hamlet slept." But the people of Cheniere, the few survivors, 
were unable to bury the victims of the storm, much less to re- 
pair the last resting places of their older dead; and when the 
rescuing parties arrived from New Orleans they had all they could 
do in caring for the famishing remnant, in binding up the 
wounds of the injured, and in searching on the sands of the beach, 
in the long giass of the marshes, among the slimy recesses of the 
dismal swamps, under the torn and shattered cypress and oaks, 
with their funeral drapery of sombre moss, for the bodies of the 
newly dead. 



13 — 




— 14 — 



CHAPTER n. 



GRAND ISLE, 



When the present century was young there was one name 
which was spoken in the lowlands of South Louisiana, along the 
sun-kissed sands of its southern shore, on the waters of the Gulf 
of Mexico, with bated breath. It was the name of Jean Marie 
Lafitte, the pirate of the gulf. Originally a blacksmith in New 



^fe-^^^^ 1 \\^^ 




«I AM THE ONLY ONE LEFT." 

Orleans, he became the agent of the privateers commissioned by 
the United States of Columbia in the struggle with Spain for in- 
dependence. From agent to active participant was but a short 
step for Lafitte, and the istep from privateer to pirate was 
shorter still . Lafitte's knowledge of the country stood the band 
in good stead. A short distance below New Orleans the country 
through which the Mississippi river flows begins to contract, and 
soon it becomes a narrow finger of firm land running out into 



— 15 — 

the gulf, the river flowing on along its middle, while its outer 
edges are at first bounded by flat sea marsh, soon giving place 
to the waters of the gulf which sweep up on both sides to within 
a few hundred yards of the river bank in two bold crescents 
whose horns meet at the point where the father of waters pours 
his mighty floods into the sea. 

This marsh country is threaded by tortuous bayous which 
have their sources near the river just below New Orleans, and 
some of them debouche from the river itself. Gradually they 
draw themselves away from the parent stream, and, striking 
through the swamp, their sluggish currents seek the gulf to the 
west of the mouth of the Mississippi . 

For a time they flow along with current so sluggish and 
between banks so even and so equidistant at different points that 
they would be taken for artificial canals were it not for their 
winding course. 

Chief among these many waterways is Bayou Barataria. It 
winds in and out, through fertile fields and dank swamps, now 
glittering like a silver ribbon in the sun which strikes it over the 
verdant billows of waving cane, now sullenly gleaming like a 
river of ink in the shadows of the moss hung oaks a,nd cypress 
whose branches arch its tortuous channel. For mile^ it runs a 
narrow canal seeming scarce wide enough for the tijiy steamer 
which beats its waters with its single wheel, or the sc^litary lug- 
ger which is the ordinary carrier of its primitive commerce; then 
it breaks into a lake resting like a hugh pearl on the bosom of a 
prairie; then contracting again to its normal width it glides by 
a "settlement" perched on its banks, again to become a lake 
which glistens in the sunlight like an immense dew drop caught 
in the dense undergrowth of an impenetral^le swamp. Now it 
sweeps through a sea marsh over which comes the salt-laden 
breeze fresh from its caressing of the ocean; now it gently 
touches the edges of a "trembling prairie,'' (that queer forma- 
tion of a shell of earth in the bosom of an unfathomable depth 
of water, whose grassy surface undulates like the sea) as if it too 
feared that treacherous land which has often given way beneath 
the feet of the venturesome hunter and made its hidden waters 
his unknown tomb. At last, weary of its wanderings, it meets 
the salt water of the gulf in Barataria bay. Lying at the mouth 
of Barataria bay where it joins the Gulf of Mexico are the twin 
islands of Grand Isle and Grande Terre . Their oaks and under- 
growth afforded a shelter for the freebooters of the deep, their 
shallow waters, with channels known only to their constant fre- 
quenters, gave a security to the pirate schooners from chase and 
capture by the deep draft war vessels, and Bayou Barataria 
afforded an easy means of conveying spoil to secret agents in 
the City of New Orleans . All this was well known to Jean La- 
fitte, and when put in command he selected Grand Isle as his 



— 16 ~ 

headquarters. Here he built store-bouses and sheds, and her© 
he erected what was known as "the pirate's house," until the 
storm of October 1, 1893, swept the last vestige of it from the 
earth. But years before that dnte it had been put to more 
peaceful use, and sheltered there those who were content with 
the spoils taken from the sea by honest toil, instead of that gar- 
nered under the shadow of the black flag. 

With the passing away of the pirate crew, the fame of Grand 
Isle for balmy breezes, and tafe surf bathing spread abroad. 
Soon a few summer cottages made their appearance among the 
homes of the fishermen; then others followed; then bote's were 
built, and, finally, when the busy weavers at the loom of com- 
merce stretched one of their steel threads from the Crefecent 




LAFITTE'S OLD HOUSE AT GRAND ISLE. 



City toward Barataria Bay and began to hurl backward and for- 
ward the iron shuttle which weaves the web of our prosperity, 
the Ocean Club Hotel reared its pretentious form among its 
humbler neighbors, with room for a thousand guests; and sum- 
mer after summer the gilded butterflies of fashion flocked from 
the city to spend the heated term in this romantic spot. 

Fortunately most of the summer guests had left Grand Isle 
before the great storm, and this alone is the reason why the 
mortality there did not nearly approach that at ill-fated Che- 
niere Caminada. ^ Had the storm occurred a month earlier, its 
consequences would have been appalling; for when the large sum- 
mer hotels were wrecked by the winds and their timbers tossed 
about by the angry waters, had they been filled, as they were 



-17 — 

during August and September, with women and children, those 
who would have escaped could have been counted on the fingers. 
Another thing in favor of Grand Isle is the difference be- 
tween its formation and that of Cheniere. The last is a mere sand 
spit, formed by the action of the waves, while Grand Isle rests 
on a rock foundation and is formed of shell deposits, drift-wood, 
sand and the washings from alluvial Louisiana. And while the 
whole of Cheniere Caminada lay open to the sweep of the waves, 
Grand Isle, on the south, is protected from the gulf by a range 
of low sand hills, thrown up by the sea, which acted as a break- 
water when the hurricane seemed to hurl the gulf on human be- 
ings crouched in terror on its shore . 

When the storm struck Grand Isle on that terrible Sunday 
night there were about three hundred people on the island, most 
of them permanent residents. Of these only some twenty-eight 
or thirty were killed, but many were badlj' injured and all suf- 
fered severely for food and water before the arrival of the relief 
boats. They retire early at Grand Isle, and when the tempest 
came nearly all the inhabitants were in bed and many were 
asleep. Two sailors, Ertivez and Mergovich, who were up and 
out of doors gave a graphic description of the scene. They 
said the wind had been rather high in the afternoon and in- 
creased to a gale when night fell. About ten o'clock they went 
out of the house. The storm was then seemingly at its height 
and they became afraid the island would be overwhelmed, and 
they determined to try and escape in a boat to the mainland. 
They ran to a cove where the boat was beached and worked 
amid the roar of tempest, the crash of falling trees and shattered 
houses and the thundering of the water on the shore, to launch 
their frail craft . Then, said they, there came a lull. For an 
instant that seemed like an age, there was perfect quiet, and then 
the warring of the elements began again with redoubled force. 
The wind had chopped around and now blew in almost a directly 
opposite direction from its former course. The first blow had 
forced the waters in from the gulf and had set a strong cur- 
rent in shore. The second blow forced back this water and with 
it that of the bay and the bayous behind the islands, and started 
a counter current running out to sea. "When these two mighty 
masses of water met in the gulf off shore a wave was created 
whose foam decked crest towered thirty feet in the air, and 
which rushed upon the devoted island. 

By the flash of the lightning which illumined the inky dark- 
ness these sailors saw this tidal wave sweeping down like the 
besom of destruction. What could puny human might do ? The 
sand hills which had been counted upon as a protection were no 
more than so many straws in the path of this awful wave. It tore 
them as the incoming tide destroys the- sand piles the child- 
ren build in their play . It swept over them as if they had been 



— 18 




M«7 
J I -^ 

? Q o M 



— 19 — 

but ripples in the sand left by a retiring tide and rushed to com- 
plete the work of destructiou the wind had commenced. The 
island was engulfed. Houses were washed away, cattle were 
drowned, trees were torn from the ground and tossed like straws 
in its boiling surface . The railroad track leading from one of 
the hotels down to the beach was utterly destroyed: the ties 
were torn from the ground and splintered as if -by axes in the 
hands of a thousand woodmen; the rails were wrenched apart 
and, borne like corks by the angry waters, and tossed hundreds 
of yards away, some of them wrapped and twined around trees, 
as if some mighty Vulcan had done it in sportive derision of his 
human imitators. 

Krantz's Hotel, a collection of cottages with a large assem- 
bly hall and dining room at either end, was utterly destroyed, 
and Captain Krantz, the proprietor, severely injured, his life be- 
ing saved by the exertions of a servant. 

The Ocean Club Hotel, a large three story structure, built 
with a special view of resisting storms, with its planking doubled 
and spiked on at right angles, and the whole building buttressed 
with three large Ls, was wrecked. The upper story was swept 
away and utterly destroyed, while the two lower ones were 
twisted and torn out of all semblance of a house. Windows and 
doors were beaten in, great gaps were torn in the walls and 
wreckage and seaweed and dead bodies of animals were piled in 
and over it. The house built by Jean Lafitte, a strong substan- 
tial cottage on brick pillars, and occupied as a dwelling, was ut- 
terly destroyed; not a stick of its timbers was left on its site; 
even the foundation was torn to pieces, and only a few scattered 
bricks were left to mark the spot where once it stood. The house 
where he had lived and the shop where he had worked in New 
Orleans had long before fallen before the march of improvement, 
and now the storm had erased the last trace left in Louisiana of 
the pirate of the gulf. 

Captain Krantz gave to a reporter of the New Orleans Pica- 
yune the following graphic account of the storm; 

"I am 70 years old, and for many years have owned the Grand 
Isle Hotel . I am a widower with four children. On the night 
of the storm I was at home. I did not expect that anything 
serious would happen. The wind rose about 9 o'clock and blew 
hard. At 11 o'clock it changed and blew from the varying points 
from northwest to southwest at intervals of fifteen minutes there- 
after. In about half an hour the water on the grounds around 
the hotel was fully five feet deep. A terrible gust of wind struck 
the house and knocked it over. A portion of the building fell on 
me, and for a time I thought our last hour had come.* Fortun- 
ately the water continued to rise, and in about ten minutes I felt 
the weight pressing heavily upon my body gradually removed. 
I was lying on a beam. I was washed away from under the house, 



— 20 — 

the water carrying me with it for a distance of twenty-five feet . 
I was struck and became unconscious. For several hours I did 
not know what had occurred to me. "When I regained conscious- 
ness it was 5 o'clock on Sunday morning. I was still clinging 
to the beam, which was firmly embedded in the ground opposite 
my bathhouse. I received very serious injuries. In my feeble 
condition I returned to what had been the hotel, but out of the 
thirty-eight cottages which formerly stood there only twenty 
were left. There was not a particle of food to be found, every- 
thing having been washed away, including all the wearing ap- 
parel. I estimate my loss at from $75,000 to $100,000." 

The first boat which went to the relief of the sufferers carried 
the son of the old captain to his father's rescue. The relief boat 
met one of the few luggars left by the storm on its way to New 
Orleans for help, and Captain Krantz was on board. The meet- 
ing between father and son was most affecting. The injured 
veteran was brought aboard the steamer and made as comforta- 
ble as possible, and with careful nursing was finally restored to 
health . f 

One of the most thrilling experiences at Grand Isle on that 
night of horrors was that of the crew of the little steamer Joe 
Webre, the boat that has for many years travelled back and forth 
between New Orleans and Grand Isle, carrying the crowds that 
sought the beautiful island resort in winter and summer. Many a 
storm^she safely weathered, but at last she went to pieces and 
only her name remaius to remind many of happy trips down the 
bayous and across the little lakes, that dot the course between 
New Orleans and Grand Isle. When the wind became danger- 
ously strong, extra ropes were put out, and eight inch and a 
quarter cables were hove about the piles of Grand Isle pier 
where the storm overtook the boat. To relieve the terrific strain 
on the cables, a full head of steam was turned on, and everyone 
on the boat stood ready for the worst when it came. The skies 
grew blacker, and the waves rose higher and higher, their crests 
lashed to white foam, and in the depths between, 'the phosphor- 
escent gleaming of the churned water caused the boat to seem 
about to plunge in an abyss of fire when she started down from 
the top of a huge wave. The cables parted and the Webre 
drifted out into the gulf at the mercy of the wind. Debris from 
ruined Cheniere Caminada and Grand Isle drifted by her and 
dashed against her sides. When the wind lulled for a few mo- 
ments, the cries of wounded and dying came from the distant 
islands and added to the horror of the night. Then the Webre 
trembled from stanchion to keel, and the cabin was blown to 
pieces. The crew, Captain McSweeney, George Rolf, engineer; 
Pilot Pegreagan, Richard, pantryman; Albert Foster, cook; 
Elizabeth Lyle, chambermaid, an"d Charley Green, deck hand, all 
gathered on deck and together left the boat in a yawl when they 



|Q». J^i esSa 

feaW siie Was stire to go to pieces. Just as they pulled Out IrOiH 
the boat a lull came — a dead calm fell upon the waters and not 
even the smallest zephyr ruffled the waves. But the quiet that 
came so suddenly seemed ominous, and all expected what follow- 
ed — a renewal of the storm with tenfold fury. But the wind had 
shifted and now came from off the island. Each gust was fiercer 
than the last and the crew saw the Webre go down, while their 
skiff was overturned and dashed to pieces. Fortunately the crew 
were beside a tree that had withstood the assault of wind and 
waves, and they took refuge in its branches. 

The chambermaid was a negro woman who weighed nearly 
300, and it may be easier imagined than described how she was 
hauled up in the tree and held there while the gale blew with 
terrific force. George Rolfs, Jr., the brave engineei", tells the 
following story: 




THE WRKCK OP THE JOE WEBRE. 

"I will never forget my experience. We were all on board 
of the boat when the storm arose. Steam was up and we were 
pi-eparing to go. The wind increased lo such an extent that we 
were obliged in order to keep our feet to hold on to the hog 
chains . The boat was striking the wharf with such power that 
it became difficult for us to stir. The hogchain parted speedily 
under the strain, and then we took refuge beside the ice box. 
A. wave swept the deck and soon carried the latter protection 
from us. The wind then suddenly calmed, and we took shelter 
in the pilot house. Soon we had to leave that spot. Our next 
attempt to find a place of safety caused us nearly to be washed 



overboard. The boat was becoming a wreck, slie having parted 
from her moorings. We launched the yawlboat and rowed 
through the darkness for the Grand Isle Hotel. After pulling 
hard for some time, we reached the place where the buildings 
were supposed to be located, and were surprised to find nothing 
but a continuous sheet of turbulent water. The entire party 
climbed an oak tree and remained there till daylight when we 
descended. The water had then abated considerably, and was 
not more than two feet deep . We walked to an old shanty, 
where we found refuge for several hours. We finally left there 
in search of Captain Krantz. In our search we visited a house in 
which there was an old lady, a woman and a young girl, where 
we remained until the water had entirely disappeared. Word 
having reached us that Captain Krantz was alive and not very 
seriously injured, we returned to the wharf. Here we found 
that the Joe Webre had been blown back and was high and dry 
on the ground. She was a total wreck. She had broken clean 
in half." 

The boat was lifted from her place in front of Grand Isle 
by the wind when it veered, and she was carried 250 feet inland, 
and now lies across the railroad track built by Captain Kranz to 
carry guests from the hotel to the bay, high and dry, a complete 
wreck. 

' Geo. Rolfs, Jr., the engineer of the wrecked steamer, Joe 
Webre, has a memento of the storm in the shape of his gold 
watch, which he wore until the beating rain drenched his cloth- 
ing, and he took it off and placed it under his pillow in his 
stateroom, where, a few moments later, the fireman also placed 
his watch, both men supposing by so doing they would save 
their time pieces from a soaking. But the vessel went to pieces, 
and the cabin was blown away, and its remnants were scattered 
far and wide over the waters, and in that hour of peril, when 
the crew left the boat, expecting to find watery graves, neither 
Mr. Rolfs nor the fireman gave a thought to their watches. 
Afterward, when they were rescued, they exchanged mutual 
condolence at the loss of their timepieces, never expecting to see 
them again, as they knew the cabin of the Webre had been 
blown to pieces and carried to sea. But when Mr. Geo. Rolfs, 
father was sent to examine the hulk of the wrecked Webre, 
ten days later, he saw something gleaming among the sand and 
dirt in the hull, and to his amazement brought to light his son's 
watch, when he dug up the shining metal from its bed of mud. 
Where its companion, the fireman's timepiece is, cannot be con- 
jectured, but Mr. Rolfs prizes his water-soaked watch far more 
than he did when it ticked regularly and told him the time for 
starting his boat on her trips. ^ 

1 Just to the east of Grand Isle lies Grande Terre, also an 
island. Here the storm was equally severe, but no lives were 



-23- 

lost, owing, no doubt, to the fact that but few persons were 
there, and these few took refuge in the fort built there by the 
United States government on the west end of the island to guard 
the channel which passes between Grande Terre and Grand Isle 
into Barataria bay . But as solid as was this massive work it 
could not withstand the furious assaults of the ocean . For a 
while the sturdy fortification repulsed the attacks of the waves 
as they thundered up the beach against its grassy sides . But 
at last a breach was made; the works of man could not stand 
forever before the irresistible assaults of nature in her might. 
The angle of the fort next the gulf was torn off and the waves, 
following each other like the successive lines of an assaulting 
army, entered the works. They wrought still further destruc- 
tion on slope and glacis, in casemate and on rampart; but those 
who had entered the fort for safety retired to the part which the 
waters spared, and all escaped. Here, as elsewhere, houses 
were leveled, trees were torn from the earth, animals were 
killed by the storm and drowned in the rising waters, property 
was destroyed and men were beggared, but Grande Terre was 
one of the few spots where was not heard the wailing of the 
saved for the untimely dead. 



CHAPTER III. o; 

ON THE MISSISSIPPI. 

The storm did not confine itself to the islands of Barataria 
Bay alone, nor even to the coast line of the gulf. Its ravages 
were felt far up the Mississippi river. Nor were those ravages 
felt alone along the narrow tongue of land through which the 
river flows for the last few miles of its length, as has been de- 
scribed heretofore, but they were manifest far inland where the 
wind and water from the gulf had to sweep over a wide stretch 
of country to reach the banks of the father of waters. A few 
miles below New Orleans the settled and cultivated country be- 
gins to "contract" and it grows narrower and narrower until just 
above forts Jackson and St. Philip it ceases altogether and the 
river sweeps from there to sea between marshy banks, with only 
here and there the hut of a fisherman, or other person who 
draws his living from the water, to break the monotony of the 
view. »There is one exception, and that is the group of build- 
ings which compose the Louisiana Quarantine Station — the 
post where stand the sentinels who guard the Mississippi Val- 
ley from invasion by contagious and infectious diseases. These 
buildings include the large fumigating house, the boat house and 
telegraph station, the storehouse and the quarters for the phy- 
sicians and employees who are always stationed there . And 
laying at the wharf, or sheltered in the boat house are the fumi- 



— 3-i -«* 

gating tug boat, tlie steam launch SlvA the Humei'ous to^ boats* 
large and small, with which the station is equipped. 

From the quarantine station to the gulf the river banks 
are duplicates of what they are above, except where the hand of 
man has changed them for his purposes. At the "head of the 
passes," where the river spreads itself like the fingers of an 
opened hand, and seeks the gulf by three different channels, 
commence the Eads' Jetties, those mighty works which have 
harnessed the theretofore wasted power of the resistless river 
and made it dig its own bed and deepen its own channel. To 
the one who sees them for the first time they are disappointing, 
for there is little to show for the money which has been spent 
and the results which have been accomplished. But these great 
works are chiefly beneath the water, with only the heads of the 
piles and a few stones showing above the surface. But as you ap- 
proach the gulf the jetties show more and more until the "sea- 
wall,"built of great blocks of granite, give evidence that man has 
indeed been here at work. 

<j.-^ At the very mouth of the river, perched between^the river 
and the gulf, is Port Eads. Here is the first boarding station 
of the quarantine, and here also are the homes of the pilots 
who take in and out of the river the ocean carriers who make 
New Orleans their port. How these places were served by the 
storm will be told at the proper time in this story; the inten- 
tion now is to try and give the reader some idea of the river, 
or at least that part of it which suffei-ed on the night of Sun- 
day, October 1, 1893. The first point below New Orleans where 
the storm commenced to do its work of destruction was the 
old "Poydras" plantation. From there down, Stella, Monse- 
cour. Old Harlem, Myrtle Grove, Savoy, Belleview, Hebert's, 
Livaudais, Sardelot's, in short, all of the plantations suffered 
more or less from the storm. Houses were unroofed or blown 
down, fences were leveled, the crops of cane and rice were 
badly injured, animals were killed or drowned, and sugar 
houses were badly damaged by the wind and water; but, for- 
tunately no lives were lost. 

At Point Celeste a large negro church was torn from its 
foundations by the storm, carried over a quarter of a mile and 
deposited squarely across the track of the New Orleans, Fort 
Jackson and Grand Isle Railroad. 

At Tropical Bend occurred the first loss of life on the 
river. Here several colored people lost their lives, some from 
drowning, but most from flying timbers. Near here occurred 
the pathetic death of Mrs. Lafrance, which is related elsewhere. 

The only town of any size on the Mississippi river below 
New Orleans is Pointe-a-la-Hache, the seat of justice of Plaque- 
mines parish. The ravages of the storm here were frightful. 
Nearly every house in the little town was badly damaged; 



u 




^26- 

inany of tliem were blown down. Its three churclies wer6 
unroofed, their windows were destroyed, their doors blown in, 
and they werfe deluged with water. The jail was unroofed, 
and the courthouse, just finished at a cost of $16,000, was badly 
injured; the slates were torn from the roof, the doors and win- 
dows were smashed and the massive clock tower with its costly 
clock, was thrown to the ground a mass of bi'oken bricks. As 
the demon of the storm shrieked through the place, the air 
was filled with flying debris; bricks and timbers were hurled 
through the air as if they had been feathers and straw. The 
terrified inhabitants knew not what to do; the crashing of 
houses warned them that death lurked for them in the dwell- 
ings that sheltered them, while the missies of destruction 
which hurtled through the darkness of the night without were 
almost certain death to anyone who sought to escape in the 
open air. 

The family of Mr. Mandots met with serious injuries. The 
family was huddled up in the house when the tornado struck 
it, and in less time than it takes to tell, the force of the wind 
had splintered the rafters and blown the house down on top 
of the unfortunates who had trusted to its security. 

The ferry-boat at Pointe-a-la-Hache was caught by the 
gale, and before a rope could be started or another line se- 
cured, the ferry was smashed into kindling wood. Two lug- 
gers, which were hugging the shore to avoid the fury of the 
gale, were caught as the tornado swerved and they also shared 
the general fate. 

Throughout the time of the gale the rain fell in a perfect 
sheet. The drops were large, and the violence of the wind 
was so great as to give one subjected to the rain the sensation 
of being assailed by a million peas hurled with mighty force. 

A sample of the force and fury of the wind was seen in the 
condition of two cars of the New Orleans, Fort Jackson and 
Grand Isle road at this point. They had been standing on 
the track at the station hitched to other cars of the train, and 
the big wind that swept the town picked them up completely 
from the earth, breaking the coupling pin that connected them 
with the other cars of the train and turning them over. The 
escape of the two men inside was nothing short of miraculous. 
The cars were jammed into the soft mud alongside the rail- 
road and the windows and cornice work were smashed to 
pieces. The heavy iron truck work underneath was torn 
asunder as though it had been so much thread. 

;A reporter of the New Orleans Picayune thus described 
the scene in and around the newspaper ofSce in Pointea-la- 
Hache next day: ^ 

"The first place to attract attention was the little printing 
office of the Plaquemines Protector, the newspaper of the par- 



-27- 

isli, edited by Robert E. Hingle. Mr. Hingle is one example 
of the indomitable spirit of the newspaper man. His office 
and print shop is a small frame structure, standing out on the 
road, and it bears the resemblance of having been on a pro- 
tracted drunk. In shipping parlance, it is on its beam ends, 
and is kept from collapsing by two or three braces. All the 
type and everythiner else in the structure, was "pied" — heaped 
about in indescribable confusion. He managed to save one 
form with the type locked in it, partially intact, and this, with 
with the aid of an assistant, he has distributed in a battered 
case, set up in a room adjoining the store, and despite the 
work of the elements he will issue his paper as usual, though 
in a necessarily abbreviated form. 

"The home of his nephew, a neat frame cottage was blown 
to pieces, and some of the pieces of timber hurled about with 
such force that they stuck in the ground 10 feet deep. The 
escape of the family was miraculous. The high wind in the 
early part of the night warned them to be on the lookout, and 
as the storm grew in intensity their alarm increased, for the 
creaking of the timbers in the house told them it was unsafe. 
A falling cornice decided them to leave it, and no sooner had 
they gone when it collapsed with a crash. Not a member of 
his family or his nephew's family sustained the slightest injury, 
other reports, to the contrary, notwithstanding, 

"A short distance further on a sad sight was presented. 
There stood what had but two days before been a handsome, 
roomy house, with nothing but the gaunt, bare weather-beaten 
walls standing and the roof and chimney scattered in all direc- 
tions. In the rear the kitchen, evidently a more substantial 
structure, stood comparatively intact, and here the family of 
Maurice Maurin were huddled. The bedding and clothing of 
the family were hanging on clothes lines, and the projecting 
portions of the battered house, drying, for the rain had thor- 
oughly wet everything in the house and kitchen. None of the 
people were injured, as they left the tottering building just 
before it fell. The stable in the rear dropped as if a heavy 
weight had crushed it flat down; only the roof was perfectly 
intact." 

These scenes could be repeated over and over again, but 
enough has been given to convey some idea of the destruction at 
this point. 

Bohemia is a little hamlet on the river below Poiute-a-la- 
Hache, and is the temporary terminus of the railroad. This is 
a little village comprising fifty or more negroes, who live in 
small wooden cabins. This is Dr. Herbert's rice plantation, and 
is about five miles below Pointe-a-la-Hache. The cabins, nuaa- 
bering probably twenty, are in a double row, facing a roadway 
which runs from the levee back to the rear. The greater vio« 



SU. *^§ CifA 

iettce ot ttie storin seemed to have been exei'te(^ Oh tii6 l'6W 6tl 
the north side of the road. The first cabin was apparently in- 
tact, but its roof was damaged to such an extent that it is really 
uninhabitable. The next was more than half demolished, and 
bedding and cookiog utensils and other household goods were 
scattered in utmost confusion over the debris. Of the third 
cabin naught remained but the flooring and the founda- 
tions, and the same may be said of all the rest in this part of 
the village. 

Bedding and clothing were scattered everywhere, and the 
former residents seemed not to have made any efforts to secure 
their property, or rather what was left of it. At the end of the 
row there was a boarding-house, a structure of fair size, alto- 
gether of wood. The bare floor is all that is left, and standing 
up in the center, in seeming mockery of the work of the elements, 
was a sewing machine, which seemed to be still in perfect con- 
dition . 

Of the houses on the south row, every one had rough board 
porticoes. These porticoes had all been broken off at their junc- 
tion with the body of the house and forced down like the cover 
of a book over the doors and windows. At the end of the road- 
way there had formerly been an old wooden sugarhouse. It 
had been a commodious structure, but no longer served its ori- 
ginal purpose, and had been for a long time used as a storehouse 
for grain and threshing machines. It was piled up in a tangled 
heap. The threshing machines were badly damaged, as well as 
the other contents of the building. 

On the north side of the roadway there had also been a large 
structure used as a stable. This collapsed, and over twenty-five 
head of cattle, which were in it, were killed. 

Only one person was injured here, and she was a woman, 
who was only slightly hurt. 

The 80-foot carsheds at Bohemia were seen lying flat or 
heaped on top of some freight cars. There is a wharf there, 
where it was expected that steamers would land, but not many 
ever stop there. Two freight cars were lying half over on their 
sides, and beyond the wharf the water had run over the levee 
and washed it badly. 

Two hundred feet from this s^Dot was a heap of debris — the 
remnant of the cabin occupied by Charlotte Koinkel, a negress. 
She was a young woman, and had but recently rented the place 
which fell upon her and crushed her life out in an instant. 

The Grand Prairie extends for a great distance below Bohe- 
mia, and also comprises what is known as the Union settlement. 
This place contains about 100 inhabitants, not more, and but 
three cabins were left standing Four casualties occurred here. 
The names of the dead are- Wily Anderson, a son of John Per- 
rot, a daughter of Henry Johnson, one unknown man. All these 
were colored. 



— 29 — 

From here on down to the Quarantine Station it was the 
same story — destruction of life and property— over and over 
again, and to repeat it would be but to barrow up the feelings 
of the reader. 

On Magnolia plantation (Gov. Warmoth's) the wreck was 
tenible. Many buildings had been unroofed and some of 
the bouses had been wholly wrecked. The sugarhouse had been 
partially unroofed and while the orunge trees had weathered tbe 
storm pretty well, the ground was literally covered with well 
matured fruit. Tbe immense cane field which was one of the 
finest in tbe State had been blown flat, a considerable portion 
having been literally blown out of the ground. 




A WRECKED INTERIOR. 

This was one of the finest plantations in the State, and the 
orange grove was the finest in the South. The damage here was 
not less than |25,000, but the ex-governor bore his losses like a 
stoic — the only remark he made being "Thank God, none of my 
people were killed." 

The magnificent quarantine station of the State of Louisi- 
ana, described at the beginning of this chapter, suffered 8everel3^ 
The medical staff at the station anticijoated a storm, but not a 
destructive one like that which visited the place. Sunday night 
the Quarantine tugboat Asp>inwall, with Captain John Eoig, En- 
gineer James O'Neill, and a manly crew, was lying near the quar- 
antine wharf. The boat had steam up, and was waiting for 



— 30 — 

the heavy winds to abate some, so as to make a trip to one of 

the steamers, for the purpose of disinfecting and fumigating it 
She had been on the leeward shore, and was just moving out 
when the storm began in all its fur}^ and the tug was blown on 
the batture. The jar was a terrible one, and as the boat plowed on 
the batture the greater portion of the upper works was torn ofl. 
The crew were thrown forcibly on their faces, and they began at 
once to try and escape from the almost wrecked boat. Then 
began a struggle to get ashore, and after running the greatest of 
risks of life and limb they reached there safely, but badly shaken 
up and frightened from their terrible experience. There were 
men in the messroora, and the wind blew with such velocity that 
every moment the men thought their place of shelter would be 
blown down and all lost. They tried to escape, and after a diffi- 
cult struggle in the wind and blinding rain they reached the 
shed where the iron heating cylinders are, and crawled in the 
cylinders for safety. These cylinders are made of boiler iron, 
and are about fifty feet loug and six feet in diameter. They are 
three in number and Id to them all textile fabrics from suspected 
vessels are put and are subjected to a treatment by dry heat and 
moist heat, the cylinders being hermetically sealed. These 
structures proved arks of safety for the men at the station while 
the work of destruction was going on outside. 

The plank walks were blown away, and it was at the 
greatest risk for one to try and leave the place where he was 
for safer quarters. The weather-boarding of the boathouse 
was torn away, and the physician's launch was wrecked, with 
a few big skiffs. The big roof over the disinfecting shed was 
blown almost completely off, only a small portion remaining. 
All along the course of the wind, trees and crops were des- 
troyed, and a few small cabins were blown down, but there 
was no one reported as being hurt or killed. 

The Charles Chamberlin, a towboat belonging to the 
Ocean Towboat Company, was lying along side a barkentine 
when the storm came up, and to seek the harbor and tie up, the 
boat left the barkentine and tried to make the dangerous trip. 
The wind tossed her on the big swelling waves and with great 
force sent her into a rice field, so that she could not get off. 
No one was hurt and a portion of her crew was sent in a row- 
boat to the Quarantine station and asked that the Aspinwall 
be sent to the imperilled boat's assistance, but that tug was 
also in need of assistance. The Aspinwall was damaged to 
the extent of about $3500, while the Chamberlin was probably 
damaged to the extent of a few hundred dollars. There were 
other trifling damages done to a few smaller boats, but not to 
any great extent. Fortunately here there was no loss of life. 

At the Jetties, where the yellow flood of the mighty Mis- 
sissippi plunges into the green waters of the gulf, the storns. 



— 31 — 

raged furiously; the -wind shrieked across the narrow tongue 
of land like a thousand demons. The gauge showed that its 
velocity exceeded one hundred miles an hour. The driving 
rain was hurled by the wind until it stung like red hot shot. 
The veterans among the bar pilots, those old salts who have 
spent their lives battling with the elements, declared that 
nothing in their experience had ever equalled it. Everything 
loose was picked up and hurled far out to sea; the jetties 
were stripped bare of everything movable in the twinkling of 
an eye. But things there were built for blows, and but little 
damage was done. As the gale increased the long, steady 
swell of the gulf increased until at last the towering waves 
thundered against the sea wall and, making a clean breach 
over wall and jetties and land, they rolled to join the salt 
water on the other side of the delta. The people on the west 
shore took refuge in the lighthouse, which stood like a rock, 
its beacon light shining out over the raging waters like the 
star of hope; the people on the east bank gathered in the 
small hotel which rocked like a ship in the gale, but which 
weathered the storm in safety. There was one death here. 
James Casey, the watchman for the jetty company, went out 
to see if he could do anything for the safety of the property 
committed to his care. He was begged not to go, but he an- 
swered "It's my duty,'' and out into the storm he went. He 
had gone but a short distance along the narrow jetty when 
the wind lifted him from his feet and hurled him far out into 
the raging waters. He battled bravely for his life, and his 
cries for help could be heard above the howling of the storm. 
But no boat could live an instant in those seething waters, nor 
was there a boat left, all had been swept away; and so brave 
Jim Casey went down to death, a martyr to duty. *•■ 

"While the storm was raging the worst, when the wind was 
shrieking as if all the fiends of pandemonium were unchained, 
and the rain drove in horizontal sheets, the people crouching 
terrified in the lighthouse and hotel were dumbfounded to hear 
the hoarse notes of a steamship's whistle . It did not seem pos- 
sible that any ship made by mortal hands could live in that ter- 
rific tempest, and a few of the hardiest spirits ventured to look 
out, not knowing whether or not they would see some spectre 
ship or demon steamer ploughing through the air. To their as- 
tonishment, almost horror, they saw the dark form and flashing 
lights of an ocean steamer steadily coming on as she held her 
way, seemingly in contempt of the warring elements, straight 
down the centre of the river on her way to sea. It was the great 
Morgan Liner, El Cid, which put to sea in the teeth of the tem- 
pest, her captain, with the grand confidence of the veteran 
sailor in his trusty ship, preferring to risk the open water rather 
than trust his vessel and cargo to the mercy of the angry waters 
which were lashing the shore. 



— 32 — 

All along the Mississippi, on both banks, from Pointe-a-la- 

Hache to the Jetties, nearly a hundred miles, were strewn the 
wrecks of boats and luggers, the debris of houses, the bodies of 
animals, and the ghastly corpses of men and women and little 
children; while over it all nature, as if in shame of her own 
deeds, had spread a thick mantle of sea weed swept in from the 
Gulf of Mexico and a pall of the long marsh grass torn from the 
prairie which she had scourged in her fury. 

On either side of the Mississippi river, in the marsh land 
between the river and the gulf, is a stretch of country threaded 
by numerous bayous, some known by names familiar to all, some 
with only a local nomenclature, and others so small that they are 
not deemed worthy of the dignity of a distinct appellation. 
Along these bayous, great and small, were settlements, places 
which the hardy fishermen called "home," where the smile of 
the wife and the prattle of the babes greeted their home-coming 
after the day of toil and often of danger. That section to the 
east of the river is known as "the Louisiana Marsh," while that 
to the west, comprising Bayou Cook, Bayou Shute, Grand Ba- 
you, Grand Lake, Bayou Chato and many others whose names 
would mean nothing to the reader, was known by the generic 
name of "the Bayou Cook Country." 

Here, the storm worked awful havoc on both life and i:)rop- 
erty. While the loss of life was not so severe as at Cheniere Cam- 
inada, nor as great in proportion as it was at Bayou Andre 
(where none escaped), yet a death roll of over a hundred and 
fifty sent mourning and desolation into every household, save 
where there were no living left to mourn the dead. 

Sunday is religiously observed by the Bayou Cook people. 
The little landing in front of their houses was crowded with lug- 
gers, smacks, small boats, skiffs and other craft used by them in 
fishing. These little boats were moored along side of each other 
and they were so numerous that they occupied a space of nearly 
100 feet in the water. 

The residences of the Bayou Cook people were not by any 
means handsome structures. They were built more for solidity 
than beauty. They were all one-story houses, strongly put to- 
gether, for it was nothing extraordinary for a gale to sweep over 
the settlement at any time, and a lightly constructed house would 
never be able to stand these winds. Therefore, the Bayou Cook 
people knew from experience jnst what was safe, and accord- 
ingly they built their houses to stand an ordinary hurricane. 
The storm of that Sunday night, however, was no ordinary one. 
It was the worst blow that ever swept over that portion of the 
country, and the little houses that lined the banks of the cur- 
ving Bayou Cook were blown away like so much chaff. 

Just at what hour the disaster occurred that swept the set- 
tlement out of existence will probably never be known. It 



— 33 — 

must have been in the neighborhood of midnight. The simple 
fishermen, their wives and their children were not asleep when 
the cyclone struck them in its full force. Experience had taught 
them that it was safe on the outside than in the inside of a house 
while a gale was in progress. This storm was such an unusual 
one that everybody in the village huddled together in the down- 
pour of rain, and sent up many a prayer to the Almighty. When 
the storm broke in all its fury, house after house went down. 
The bayou began to rise at an alarming rate, and soon was level 
with the banks. Off in the distance could be heard the roar of 
the rapidly encroaching waves from the Gulf. Pandemonium 
reigned among the fisherman. Husbands forgot wives and 
mothers forgot children. It was a trying moment for everyone, 
and each and every individual felt that their lives were about to 
be sacrificed. Already many had been caught up by the wind 
and blown with terrific force against the wrecks of their homes, 
where they lay stunned and bleeding. 

As the water in the bayou began to run out of its banks, the 
luggers, fishing smacks and other craft, which had been torn 
loose from their moorings, were swept ashore and mowed down 
the people by the dozens. Many of them were killed in this 
manner. The water rose with alarming rapidity. It soon cov- 
ered the land, and gradually rose until it was waist deep. Those 
who had survived thus far clung to the debris from their homes, 
which was floating around in a tangled mass. Some succeeded 
in climbing on doors and windows, while others were satisfied to 
catch hold of a single plank to keep them from sinking beneath 
the foam-crested waves. In this manner they were swept back 
into the swamps, many to perish from drowning, having become 
exhausted and slid from their impromptu rafts, and sank be- 
neath the dark waters. Others were dashed to pieces against 
trees and shrubbery, but the majority were borne out of sight, 
and many that were fortunate enough to survive the wind and 
water died from exposure before they could be rescued from 
their deplorable situation. 

Among the men who escaped from Grand Lake were Cusue 
Murno of the lugger Atlas, Martel Zebilitzh and Pierre Zeblitizh 
of the lugger Bon Pere . Their lugger had gone to the city 
and they had been left in charge of the fishing camp. The storm 
had come upon them and they climbed to the roof of their cabin 
to escape from the rising waters. There they heard the cries of 
their terrified, drowning comrades, as the wrecked luggers went 
drifting swiftly past them in the storm and darkness, with 
their crews shrinking in mortal terror. Then their cabin was 
dashed to pieces and they were struggling in the water amid 
the storm and darkness. They kept together as they floated on 
the waves until one of them was dashed against an old pile or 
picket that was firmly fixed in the ground. He clung to it for 



hi-s life and called liis comrades. They all held to the picket 
\mtil Monday evening, when the suT)sidence of the storm en- 
abled them to swim to shoal water. They then wandered about 
in the marshes until Tuesday morning, and, finally reaching 
the railroad, boarded the train, barefooted, bareheaded and in 
a half-famished condition. 

Mr. Fred Ziblich, a resident of Bayou Co( k, sums up the 
storm, in a letter written to his brother, in New Orleans, two 
days af forwards, thus: 

"The loss of life here is terrible, and it seems that there is 
hardly anyone in the neighborhood of Bayou Cook left to tell 
the tale of the storm and its destructive work. Only twenty 
people altogether have escaped from the storm in the bayou 
with their lives and they all till a tale of horror and death. 
There is not a family but what has lost a member, or several 
members. Some fan.ilies have be(n lest altogether, my wife is 
among the dead, but I don't linow where they are and what has 
become of them. I was aw-ay from the house and could not get 
back in tiae to save them, if saving would have been possible. 
It is terrible, and words will never describe the horror, the de- 
strTOtion, the death and the great loss of property. There is 
hardly a house left in the whole neighborhood, and a great 
many of them have been carried away an dlost altogether. Boats 
are washed upon the New Orleans and Fort Jackson Railroad 
and loclged there." 

Three days after the stoim Mr. Tony Anasawovich, another 
of the survivors, said to a reporter of the New Orleans Picayune: 

"The story of the storm at bayou Cook and Grand bayou 
will never be truthfully told. It is impossible to paint a picture 
of the scenes of desolation. The entire country has been laid 
waste by the elements and there is scarcely ahoose left standing 
where there once existed happy homes and a prosperous colony. 
The camps have all been swept out of existence and the country 
is covered with every describable manner of debris and with tlie 
bodies of the dead, not all of which have yet been gathereel for 
interment. It will probably be difficult to recover the bodies of 
all who were lost. Many of them were swept into the marshes. 
Families have been torn apart and many wiped entirely out of 
existence. It is difficult, howevei', to attempt to furnish names. 
Some of the missing may be still alive, and the confusion and 
terror are so great that people are as yet unable to account for 
their relatives and frieuds in view of the frightful experiences 
they have passed through . " 

The story of each and every bayou in the Bayou Cook coun- 
try would be but a mournful re}jetition of the foregoing, changing 
the names of the sufferers. Everywhere were parents wailing for 
their children, and little ones crying the names of parents vi'hose 
white faced corpses gazed with unseeing eyes to heaven from 
the matted marsh grass of the trembling prairie. 



— 35 — 

In the Louisiana marsh to the east of the Mississippi, the 
same destruction vviis wron<;ht. There are but few ba.yous in 
this section, their plao s beinf:>- taken by the chain of lakes which 
commences with Lake Pontchartrain in the rear of New Orleans^ 
and continue until they reach the gulf, the principal one of which 
is Lake Borgne. From New Orleans south there runs into this 
country, on the left descending bank of the river, the Shell 
Beach railroad, which has its southern terminus at the little 
settlement from which it takes its name. Like its companion 
road on the west bank, the Shell Beach road suffered severely 
from the storm. Its track was washed and torn, and where it re- 
mained intact it was covered with debris and seaweed and the 
bodies of animals. It, too, had its quota of boats and schooners 
and luggers caught up out of the lakes and cast all along its 
line. 

Shell Beach was more of a fishing camp than a settlement, 
and fortunately but few lived there. Some of the anglers of New 
Orleans had erected there a handsome club house at a cost of 
something li!\e $7000. This building was in charge of Mr. Heb- 
ler who resided in it^with his family. Here most of the people 
gathered when the storm broke, as it was the most substantial 
structi:re in the place. Mr. Hebler gave the following account 
of the storm there: 

He Slid he had been there since 1884 and had seen no storm 
which was worth considering in comparison with the one of Sun- 
day night. 

At 5 o'clock Sunday evening the wind began to blow hard 
and probably reached the vekcity of 40 miles an hour. The 
water rose about 12 inches and he took measures to secure the 
boats. At 10 o'clock the wind shifted to the northwest and the 
water came up to the floor. The sailboats went and the gallery 
was pulled down. At 2 a. m . the wind shifted to the northwest 
and there was 6 feet of water in the hall. The sewing machine, 
lamp and everything washed away and the doors went down and 
the floors were washed out in all the rooms but the kitchen. 
Soon only the uprights were left. The cistern was washed three 
miles from the house . 

Two fishermen were in a willow tree from Sunday at 5 
o'clock p. m. until between 2 and 3 Monday. 

One Manilla man floated two or three miles and two others 
floated away in a pirogue and have not been heard from since. 
All the huts went, and there was only water and sky and rain 
during the early hours of Monday morning. Shell Beach is a 
desolate phice. 

Capt. Tony Jnan, one of the residents of Shell Beach, who 
was absent at the time of the storm, gave to a reporter of the 
New Orleans Picayune a graphic description of the scene which 
greeted him on his return home the next day: 



— 36 — 

""When I reached Shell Beach," said Capt. Tony, "a scene of 
desolation greeted my eye. The magnificent clubhouse that 
formerly stood on the beach was a mass of broken and twisted 
timbers. Looking down the beach not one of the twenty camps 
that were formerly there could be seen. There was nothiDg to 
show that any buildings had ever stood there. My own camp, 
which was built near the clubhouse, and which I left in good 
order on Saturday, had disappeared. 

Immediately upon my arrival I set about ascertaining 
■whether any of the fishermen had been drowned. After a dili- 
gent search I managed to round up all those that were on the 
beach, and after noses had been counted it was discovered that 
seventeen persons were missing. Among this number was Mar- 
tin Bonificiao and his family. The other twelve were men, and 
the belief is that they had all been swept back into the swamp, 
and it will require a thorough search to find their bodies. There 
is not the slightest doubt but that they are all dead, for if any 
of them had been alive they could have easily made their way 
back to the beach, as immedately after the storm had subsided 
the ten feet of water that covered the land flowed rapidly back 
into the lake. The survivors are so wrought up over the terri- 
ble ordeal they passed through that they had not the heart to 
institute a search for the missing. 

I took down with me a lot of provisions, and I found that it 
was a Godsend to these people. They had not had one mouth- 
ful to eat since Sunday evening,and were in actual want, as there 
was not one bite to eat anywhere, the storm having swept away 
all eatables with their houses . They did not even have a fishing 
line; which would have enabled them to catch enough fish to 
appease their appetites . These people are now quarted at the 
house of C. H. Cyaley, which is six miles distant from the rail- 
road terminus. The majority of them are nearly naked, their 
clothes having been blown away. 

At Terre Aux Boeuf, Pescadorosville, Keggio, in short at 
every settlement or fishing camp or station, this sad scene was 
repeated. 

At Pescadorosville, or the Island, as it is sometimes called, 
but two houses were left standin-g out of thirty. 

At every point the personal effects of the people were 
washed or blown away, their houses were blown down, their 
fishing boats were staved and sunk, or carried so far inland by 
the immense volume of water which poured over the country, 
•^t they could not be returned to the water, and he who es- 
"* with his life, even though with broken bones, esteemed 
*-\ip ' ' vorite of fortune. In this country, too, each tuft 
Tetation, half grass, half flag, might hide a man- 
body, and at the bottom of every stagnant 
ling waters in the scored marshes, perhaps 



m 




— 38 — 

might rest a ghastly corpse whose soul had winged its flight to 
the great beyond amid the howling tempest of that awful night. 
For days after the storm the relief parties continually^ 
found the bodies of the dead, some of them the inhabitants of 
the region, others sailors whose vessels had been driven in from 
Mississippi Sound and the Gulf of Mexico and wrecked on the 
eastern shore of the "Marsh." Some were recognized and their 
last resting places were reverently marked; but many, very 
many, went to swell the list of the unknown and unclaimed dead. 



CHAPTER IV. 



TWIXT BIVEK AND LAKE. 



While death was being dealt on the coast, the storm was 
not idle in the city of New Orleans. New Orleans is situated 
on the level land between the Mississippi river and Lake Pont- 
chartrain; and, as the lake is joined to the gulf by waterway's 
on the east, and the river in its sinuous winding as it nears the 
city approaches so close to the lake, it is almost an island. 
There are no bluffs or hills, not even the slightest elevation, to 
break the force of the wind, and so the storm had full play 
amid the houses of the Crescent City. Bat fortunately it was 
but the edge of the tempest that touched the town, and the 
blows that were struck there came from an arm already wearied 
by dealing death in the coasts below. 

All day Sunday the rain had been coming down, with now 
and then a temporary cessation for a few moments; but the 
falling rain did not seem to lighten the burden of the clouds 
which hung low above the city as the day drew to a close, and 
as the darkness of night began to steal through the gray of the 
weeping day, the wind came moaning down across the waters of 
Pontchartrain, driving before it great windrows of inky clouds 
across a background of solid lead color, a phenomenon which 
boded no good for aught in the track of the storm of which it 
was the forerunner and prophet. As darkness fell upon the 
city and its myriad lights blazed out, here an electric spark 
that shone like a diamond on the bosom of the night, and, radi- 
ating in the distance, the gas jets scintillated like strings of jew- 
els, the storm broke over the town. The water poured in an 
almost continuous sheet. In an instant, almost, it seemed, the 
streets were flooded; ditches and drains ran bank full, i-oadways 
were under water and sidewalks disappeared beneath the flood 
which stretched from house to house across the streets, broken 
only by the vehicles which cut through it hub deep, or the 
street cars which carried ahead of them a wave as boats at sea. 

And above all roared the wind. Blast after blast tore 
through the streets, and the storm played the music of its weird 



— 39 — 

fantasie on the Jiloleari harp of wires that swayed and swung 
and rani? under the touch of the master musician, while at hun- 
dreds of points the blus-white sparks and jets threatened death 
to man who had dared to chain and harness the mysterious power 
of which they were the visible manifestation. 

A setious accident occurred at the corner of Carroll- 
ton avenue and Second street. A telephone wire was blown 
down and lay across the trolley wire. The current from the 
trolley wire was transmitted to the telephone wire, and when a 
double team owned by Betz, the livery stable man, came gallop- 
ing along, at 12.55 a. m., the horses ran against the fallen wire. 
Both horses were immediately killed and the driver had a nar- 
row escape, being rendered insensible by the shock, from which 
it took him days to recover. 

Trees were thrown down into the streets all over the city 
and travel w^as at first delayed and then interrupted altogether. 
The street cars ran at irregular intervals farther and farther 
apart, and then stopped. The charges of the cabmen rose high- 
er and higher, until at last no offer of money could tempt them 
to brave the fury of the storm. 

The telegraph wires were thrown down and for a time it 
seemed as if New Orleans would be cut off from the rest of the 
world; but, two lines held out and served to carry to and from 
the city the pulse-beats of the busy world. 

The beautiful grove of oaks at the United States barracks 
was almost destroyed, most of its largest trees being torn bodily 
from the ground, and the immense pole from which floated the 
garrison flag was snapped short off. 

The church of the Messiah in the seventh district was de- 
molished. The car sheds of the N. O. C. & L. road in 
the third district were blown down and the rolling stock exten- 
sively damaged. 

The police telegraph was rendered useless and each pre- 
cinct was a garrison cut off from all communication with 
supports. 

At an early hour the swaying wires were crossed and a high 
tension current burnt out the switch board of the fire alarm ser- 
vice, leaving the city at the mercy of the fire bug. 

At midnight one of the public markets for which New Or- 
leans is famous, situated on Sorapuru and Tchoupitoulas streets 
went with a crash and was piled, a miss of tangled debris on its 
former site. An hour later the brick wall which had been its 
lower end followed the rest of the building; adding to the ter- 
ror of the people in the vicinity. By this one incident the city 
lost $22,000. 

By some inexplicable good fortune there was but one fatal- 
ity in the city. Ulrich Boyer, a Boylan police officer, was the 
only victim of the storm. Boyer's beat was on the levee, in the 



— 40~~ 

vicinity of the Texas and Pacific Railroad depot. At the head 
of Henderson street, on the levee, the firm of A. K. Mitler & 
Co., were having erected a small structure to be used as an office. 
Between the hours of 11 and 12 o'clock Sunday night, when the 
wind was blowing at a terrible rate, the frame of the building 
was blown down and completely demolished. Boyer had been 
standing near the place, so as to secure shelter from the rain, 
which, at that time, was coming down in torrents. He was 
knocked to the ground by the falling timber, and there he re- 
mained for the remainder of the night beneath several heavy 
planks, suffering intensely. 

At 7:30 o'clock Monday morning he was discovered and 
taken from his perilous position by Officer Roach. The officer 
was passing on the levee on his way to the Harbor Precinct 
Station, when a man's groans were heard by him. He traced 
the cries to the fallen building, and after a few minutes search 
he noticed Boyer. The man was barely able to speak. The 
only thing he said was to tell the time the accident happened 
and where he was injured. He complained of pains about the 
body and legs. Officer Roach telej)honed for the ambulance. 
The man appeared to be slowly passing away, and as that vehi- 
cle was a little late in responding to the call, a wagon was se- 
cured, and in it the wounded man was laid and taken post- 
haste to the hospital. There it was found that his left thigh 
and arm were broken, and he was injured internally. His in- 
juries were attended to, and he was placed in a ward. He died 
at 12:30 o'clock in the afternoon. 

In Algiers, or the fifth district, that portion of the city on 
the west bank of the Mississippi, the damages were slighter. 

The roof of the Woman's Benevolent Missionary Hall was 
blown off; also blowing down a colored church in Jefferson par- 
ish, with the fence and trees. This church was situated near 
Freetown. 

The belfry was blown off the negro Methodist Church, and 
the slates off the Good Hope Baptist Church on Jackson street. 
The wind blew the church eight inches back from where it 
stood. 

The walls of the old Planter's Oil Mills were blown down 
and damaged to a considerable extent. 

The Women's Benevolent Missionary Hall is a two-story 
frame building, sitting back some distance in the yard. The 
wind played havoc with it, blowing the roof in as if it had been 
an eggshell. The house was a new building, and was still in 
process of construction. 

On the river itself in front of the city the night was a wild 
one. The wind blew with terrific violence along the unprotected 
levee, and the men watching the interests of the shipping com- 
munity were kept constantly on the qui vive to guard against 
loss of property. 



— 4i — 

About 9 o'clock tlie first accident occurred, when the big 
transfer steamer, Gouldsboro, of the Texas and Pacific road, 
started to cross the river in the teeth of the gale. The boat was 
loaded with passengers and freight cars for the Texas and Pacific 
road on the other side. The boat runs into a slip on this side, 
and no sooner had the vessel jutted her nose outside of the pro- 
tection thus afforded than she was caught by the full force of 
the gale. 

The current and the wind combined blew the boat down the 
river, and in less time than it takes to relate she was hurled 
against the fruit wharf of the Illinois Central road, at the foot of 
Thalia street. The mammoth engines of the big boat were in- 
capable of stemming the fury of the wind and tide, and her star- 
board wheelhouse was ground into bits against the wharf. Her 
starboard bow was also battered in. The crew of the vessel 
managed to secure the boat before any further injury could be 
effected, and the passengers were safely housed. 

The ferry boat, Edna, beat backward and forward in the 
river for two hours with the New Iberia excursionists on board, 
finally landing the passengers at a point above Louisiana avenue. 

The ferryboat, Jerome Handley, plying between Race street 
and McDonoughville, broke loose from her moorings and was 
carried a short distance up the river, where she was blown 
ashore. The Handley while lying in this position parted her 
chains and settled into the river, where she now lies sunken, 
The Handley was owned by Capt. Thos. Pickles, was valued at 
about $IO,OOU, and was not insured. 

The steam launch Harry Shannon, valued at $1000, was 
lost while lying at the bank in Gretna. The boat lies sunk be- 
neath the surface and cannot be raised . 

The steamer Grace Pitt, owned by the New Orleans and 
Southern Railroad, lying just below the Good Intent Dry Dock, 
on the Algiers side, parted her lines during the gale and to- 
gether with two barges, one lashed on each side of her, were 
blown up the river, Both of the barges were torn to pieces and 
the Pitt was carried ashore just below Morgan's depot at Gretna. 
The Pitt was valued at $6000, and was insured for'$4000. 

The big transfer W. S. Osborne, owned by the Illinois Cen- 
tral road, which was lying in retirement just above Louisiana 
avenue, was torn from her moorings during the storm of Sun- 
day night and carried to the opposite side of the river. The 
Osborne sustained but slight damage to herself, but in tearing 
al^ay from her fastenings did considerable damage to the 
steamer Ouachita, which was lying in retirement just above her. 

There was trouble at the coal fleet moored at Willow Grove. 
The barges were moored close together, and the continual jost- 
ling caused the seams to start in all except the newest of the 
fleet. The laborers employed on the boats were kept busy 



— 42 — 

pumping, but tlie water gained headway rapidly, and a barge 
belonging to T. J. Wood went down. 

Joseph Walton's coal barge was the next to be lost; then 
the Muuhall Bros, lost two coal laden barges. The total loss 
will amount to $11,000 or $12,000. 

On the shores of Lake Ponchartrain in the limits of New 
Orleans are several pleasure resorts to which her people repair 
in the summer for rest and relaxation, and the cool breezes 
which blow in from the water. The principal ones are Milne- 
burg, Little Woods, Spanish Fort and West End; the last being 
the largest and the most generally patronized. Here the people 
find music and bathing, fishing and boating; while numerous 
restaurants provide' for the inner man. 

The storm at these places was grand. At Little Woods the 
waves rolled clear across the little lakeside resort. The con- 
stant wash of the waves loosened the soil around the roots of the 
giant water oaks, and one after another the}^ bent and fell from 
the force of the hurricane. 

The houses were principally light structures and many of 
them were torn to pieces. 

West End was a heavy sufferer. Trees were uprooted, plat- 
forms destroyed, small boats sunk, bath houses damaged, por- 
tions of the^wharf torn up and plants and shrubbery whipped 
to ribbons. 

The Southern Yacht Club was a considerable lossr by the 
storm. About 300 feet of its walk from the end of the covered 
walk out to the club entrance was washed away. Otherwise, the 
club sutfered Uttle, if any. The rowing clubs on the east side 
of the basin all suffered. The landings of the St. John and 
West End clubs were washed away and the lumber piled about 
promiscuously or else lost altogether. The walk along the 
basin bank from one club to another is gone, and all that saved 
the West End club from sustaining the same losses as the others 
is the fact of the contractors for the revetment work having 
already removed the landing to make a place for depositing 
dredgings. 

It was about 2 o'clock Sunday afternoon when the damage 
began to be done . The summer house nearest the east end of 
the levee blew away entirely and without warning. The summer 
house at the big bronze statue acted very singularly. The floor 
and posts were blown away so completely that no one has so far 
found even the splinters, and yet the roof fell where the floor 
had been, and seemed to be in almost as good condi- 
tion as when new . 

The many handsome yachts in "the pen" were jammed 
against one another and were rubbed and bruised, and the yacht 
Nepenthe, belonging to Mr. Richardson, the commodore of the 
squadron, was torn from her moorings and blown a mile up the 
canal. 



— 43 — 

Spanish Fort sufifered less than any of the other places, but 
overthrown trees, wrecked stands, torn shrubbery and washed 
walks and roads showed that it had not escaped scatheless. 

At Milueburg the dwellings were damaged to a considerable 
extent, one of them being completely demolished, as well as a 
bathhouse. 

A number of skififs were wrenched from their moorings, and 
were either foundered or dashed into bits against the numerous 
sunken pilings with which the Lake at that point abounds. 

It would be tiresome and uninleiesting to detail the num- 
ber of craft thus destroyed. 

The scene during the storm is thus described by an eje- 
witness: "In the distance the lake, churned into a thick foam 
by the f ary of the wind, rose and fell in mighty waves, whose 
crests were cut off as with keen knives before they had at- 
tained their fullest height. The waves dashed against the revet- 
ment and railroad trestle with tremendous violence, and the 
spray tlew full fifteen feet high in many parts of the long walk. 
The billows rolled toward the shore, sweeping almost every- 
thing with them, and hurling drift and wreckage inland. The 
shore was lined with the rough fringe of pieces of battered 
boats, houses and pilings, which ever and anon would be lifted 
a triHe further inland by a wave more powerful than its prede- 
cessors . " 

One of the most thrilling experiences of the storm, bat one 
fortunately unattended by any casualty, was that of the New 
Camelia, the little steamer which plies on Lake Pontchartrain 
between Milneburg and Mandeville. The last named jDlace is a 
little town in the pine woods on the north side of the lake where 
many citizens of New Orleans have their snmmer homes, the 
New Camelia being the means of communication. This little 
vessel is bailt like an ocean steamer, not like the ordinary steam- 
boat of the southern waters; and to this, together with the 
coolness of her captain, William Hanover, is due the fact that 
another horror was not added to the already too long list of that 
■ fatal Sunday. Her story can be told no better than in the words 
of her captain . He said : 

"When we left New Orleans Sunday morning we had about 
fifty passengers. The trip was made to the north shore without 
the occurrence of anything of interest. The passengers had a 
delightful time at the resorts, and we started on the homeward 
voyage shortly after 4 o'clock in the afternoon. At Mandeville 
it was blowing stiff then, but not much to speak of. No rain was 
falling. We had been out but a short time when the wind 
started to blow in earnest. The passengers began to feel the 
effects of the blow, and the ladies retired to the cabin, where 
everything was made as comfortable as possible for them . Rain 
fell iu torrents after we had been out an hour, and the wind bad 



^ - 44 - 

increased to a gale from the eastward. The New Camelia be- 
haved wonderfully well in the gale, and though the vessel rolled 
like a drunken man and pitched like a bucking broncho, no dam- 
age was done either to the vesssl or her machinery. 

"About G o'clock we were in a position to land at Milneburg. 
The wind was blowing great guns and the water was running 
very high. The rain was so terrific that we could not see the 
wharf, and though I was anxious to land my passengers, I did 
not want to risk an accident that might prove fatal to all on 
board. The gale from the eastward made it impossible for a land- 
ing to be made without carrying away the wharf or tearing the 
boat to pieces, and finding things in that condition I determined 
to steam out into the lake. I told those of the passengers who 
asked me that I would again try by the light of the moon. We 
dropped anchor near the Spanish Fort and rode the gale until 
after 10 o'clock, when the moon began to shine. But its light 
was too feeble for me to try the landing in the teeth of the gale, 
and I gave over the attempt. 

"The gale was a fierce one by this time, and the steamer 
began dragging her anchor. I ordered that steam be kept up 
all night, and kept the engines going, so as to take the strain 
from the cable. We dragged a considerable distance all the 
same, and toward morning steamed out about four miles from 
the Milneburg wharf to the westward. We rode the gale all 
night in safety and tried to land about 11 o'clock Monday fore- 
noon, but owing to the presence of the wreckage to the east, 
could not make the wharf on that side. The wind was then 
from the northwest and too strong for us to land to windward. 

"The passengers had been uneasy all night, and I thought 
best to take them back to Mandeville. This I did,, and we ar- 
rived there Monday afternoon." 

The next day the steamer safely made her wharf at Milne- 
burg, landing her passengers and easing many a heart on shore 
that had ached with fear for loved ones tossed on the choppy 
seas of the shallow lake. 



CHAPTEK V. 

ALONO THE GULF. 

Along the northern shore of the Gulf of Mexico from New 
Orleans to Mobile runs the line of the Louisville and Nashville 
railroad, skirting the very edge of the waters, where the salt 
spray from the crest of the incoming rollers is dashed over the 
rails by every gale, running over the marsh on a bed built at an 
enormous cost and maintained by untiring labor, crossing the 
numerous outlets from the lakes to the gulf by bridges of steel 
and iron. Scattered along the line from one end to the other 



— 45 — 




— 46 — 

are little towns and hamlets, Lookout, Waveland, Bay St. Louis, 
Pass Christian, Bi!oxi, Scruuton, Mif-sissippi City, Ocean Springs 
and many otbers, foiming almobt a continuous sliGtcb ( f bousfs 
fronting tbe lieacb, all popular summer resorts witb tbe people 
of tbe Soutb and known colb ctively in tbe parlance of New Or- 
leans as "over tbe lake." Here in tbe bot summer months go 
the people of New Orleans to breathe tbe air redolent of the 
balsam of tbe pine, to lave in Ibe waves that lipple on tbe shore 
and to rtvel in tbe cool salt breeze which s^^eeps in from tbe 
open gulf. This coast is protected in a measure by a chain of 
low-lying islands-, mere bunks of sand raised b^^ the action of 
the waves; La Breton, Grand Grozier, tbe Cbandeleurs, Cat Isl- 
and, Ship Island, Horn Island aicl iiiany others. All along this 
line, both on tbe islnnds and tbe maii.land, tbe storm vras felt iu 
all its fury, and lives w^re lost by tbe score and thousands upon 
thousands of dollars worth of property was destroyed. 

Probably the worst damage and loss of property was at Cban- 
deleur island. Here was located the United States marine hos- 
pital quarantine buildings, in charge of Dr. G. M. Guitieras, 
with Dr. Cbas. Pelaez, as assistant. At this point tbe fullest 
strength of tbe stoim was developed, resulting not only in the 
almost complete destruction of all buildings on tbeislund, but in 
a fearful loss of life. The velocity of tbe wind reached 100 miles 
an hour. Tbe building and } ier known as the disinfecting 
plant, supplied with all tbe modern appliances for the thorough 
disinfection of vessels from infected ports, was a complete loss, 
everything being washed away. 

While tbe other buildirgs on the island were more or less 
damaged and uninhabitable, the largest house, coijnected with 
tbe main station was carrie d awoy, and the following persons 
drowned: Steward L. A. Duckert, of New Orleans; Nurs^ Mc- 
Kenzie, of Mobile; Seaman Muller, of Amsterdam, and two pa- 
tients, one named Lazen, of tbe steamship Eav^ersdnle and Geo. 
B Salmis, boatman of the American bark Rebecca Goddard. 

The buildings on tbe island were located so far apart that 
there was no communication, and it was impopsiLle for the occu- 
pants to render asssistance to one another. The lighthouse was 
also wrecked to such an extent that the lighthouse keeper aban- 
doned it. Miles of tbe island were completely washed away, 
and what little remains is liable to be completely' submerged 
with little more than an ordinary high tide. 

The damage by wind to the quarantine service alone at 
Chandeleur island will amount to nearly ?100,000. 

The disinfecting plant, which had been erected during tbe 
past year, together with tbe wharf and disinfecting apparatus, 
cost $17,000. The other buildings and improvements between 
$50,0(jO and $60,000, to which may be added about $o0,C00 for 
the steam transfer boat W'm. H. Welsh, Captain Jas. Delmas, 



— 47- 

wbich went aground at the norlli point of the island in 3 feet of 
water at high tide, with a draft of 7 feet. About forty htad of 
cattle were also lost on the island. 

Tuesda}' a Manilla sailor made hie way to the Chandeleur 
Station from the fishing sloop Laura B., of New Orleans, which 
was wrecked in Grand pass. Out of a crew of seven men he 
was the only survivor, and when found on the island was in an 
unconscious and perfecth' nude condition having been in the 
M'ater over ten hours- The oyster lugger Rosalie, of Biloxi, is 
also known to have gone to the bottom with a crew of four men. 

The American bark Rebecca Goddard, from St. Johns, lying 
at Quarantine, dragged her anchors about five miles from the 
station, and only saved the vessel from going ashore by cutting 
away the masts and all the rigging, sustaining a loss of about 
$.5U60 or $6000. The Henry T. Gregg had a similar txperitnce 
and was completely dismasted, the loss footing up fully $6000. 
The Austrian bark Nikita, which was in quarantine at Chan- 
deleur, was lost with all on board. She had a crew of about 
twelve men. The Norwegian bark Rogna was also dismasted. 

Tuesday night the Heury T. Gregg took two Italian fisher- 
men from a raft as they were drifting out to sea. Another raft 
also pai^sed the vessel with three men on board, but the Gregg's 
small boats were so badl}- wrecked that they could lend no assis- 
tacce to the unfortunates, and nothing has been heard ficm 
them since. 

John Graham, who had charge of Dantzler's lumber barge 
Remus, saiei that the barge went to pieces and he was picked 
up b}' the master of the Simon. Before going to pieces the 
the schooner New Union passed within 300 feet ot him with 
five men clinging to the bottom. It was blowing too hard to 
save them. A uL-an named Hough, who was with Graham, was 
drowned. Andrew Olesen, who was on the bark Annie B., 
said that she struck early in the morning on Cat Island . 
Himself and four otheis went over on the lumber and 
drifted to the island. Before he got there one of the men 
was washed overboard. The captain and the rest of the crew 
are missing. A sailor told him he saw the captain go over- 
board. When they reached the island the sand blown by the 
wind drove them back to the water where they both clung to 
the trees. They were taken off next day. 

Captain Roberts of the tugboat Julius Albert reported the 
day after the storm over a hundred dead bodies floating in the 
gulf between the islands and the coast. Among the lost was 
Louis A. Duckert, hospital steward, at Chandeleur. He was 
swept off into the gulf by the tidal wave amid the howling of 
the tempest. More than a week afterwards his body was found 
on a small island more than ten miles away. For days and davs 
searching parties found bodies in the long grass of the marshes. 



— 48 — 

and they were buried where they were found, swelhng the list of 
the unknown dead. Miles off shore the odor of the decaying 
bodies told all too plainly that all of tbe dead had not been 
found . 

At every little town along the coast there was tremendous 
damage to property and at many there was loss of life. 

Jack Sbepard, the assistant bridge tender on the Biloxi 
Railroad bridge, was washed overboard and drowned. His body 
was recovered the nest day and buried at Ocean Springs. 

The financial loss along the entire coast will foot up not less 
than $1,000,000. 




LOUIS A. DUCICERT, 

The canning interests suffered severely from the storm. 
Their losses in the aggregate amount to over $25,000. The 
Barataria Canning Company lost their wharves, engine-room, 
large lot of canned goods damaged, machinery, cans and other 
material. They estimate their loss at from $8000 to $10,000. 
Lopez, Dunbar's Sons & Co., oyster packers, lost about $10,000 
ou their factorv plant and water craft. Wm. Gorenfle & Co., 
oyster packers, on the Back bay, estimate their loss at about 
$3000 and the E. C. Joulian Packing Company lost about $4000. 
The Biloxi Canning Company also located in the Back bay, lost 
from $3500 to $4000 in storm-swept buildings, damaged machin- 
ery and canned goods. 

At Scranton, Miss . , the waters of the river and sound rose 
rapidly, submerging the track of the Louisville and Nashville. 
Railroad, carrying the schooners Franklin and Amelia upon the 



— 49 — 

embankment of the railroac!, where they were left by the water. 
The brig Mary C Minor was carried into Lowery Island, about 
half a mile north of the railroad, and the brig Emma and 
schooner Taylor were stranded at Freutz shipyard. The charcoal 
schooner Webb capsized 200 yards south of the railroad. 

The Lutheran and Methodist churches and four negro 
churches at Scranton were wrecked besides Odd Fellows' Hall 
was so badly injured that it is ncf longer safe. The large machine 
shop of T. C. Gatti was blown down. Mead Bros. ' mill was un- 
roofed and incalculable dnmage done toothers. 

In East Pascagoula the damage was much greater, as the 
whole road front was destroyed, the Catholic church being 
removed from its pillars and the Union Church completely des- 
troyed. 

At Lookout, the great fishing resort of New Orleans, the 
storm was awfnl. Boat houses were destroyed, boats were 
wrecked and the whole country inundated. Fortunately the 
main buildings, though rough, were strong, and the large num- 
ber of amateur fishermen there escaped with a bad fright. 

The following graphic description of the storm at Waveland, 
Miss. ,one of the prettiest watering places on the line of the L. 
& N . road, is from the pen of Mr . Henry P. Dart, a leading 
New Orleans lawyer: 

"A moderate wind blew all Sunday forenoon, which rough- 
ened the sea somewhat, but the sky was clear and there was no- 
thing to indicate unusual weather. About 1 o'clock, the wind 
changed to southeast, and with .H came rain, increasing as the 
afternoon waned until at 6 o'clock it was quite dark and a stiff 
gale blowing. 

The direction of the storm sent everybody indoors, and 
closed all openings toward the front. We are accustomed to 
rough weather at this season, and if any attention was diverted 
to it, it was not serious. Toward midnight, however, sleep was 
out of the question. The trees creaked and cracked. There was 
a deep booming along the shore, and over all the wind rushed 
and whistled and the rain pelted in torrents. Chimneys and 
openings of every kind leaked, and the town awaked and pre- 
pared for something to happen. 

About 4 o'clock the first touch of light crept up, and then 
we saw that the sea had left its normal bed and was dashing over 
bluffs and pouring across roads, while beyond and ahead of all 
flew the scud as high as our trees . Just as day broke the sight 
was most impressive; the great waves swept unimpeded over the 
shore and broke in the road, with a mighty roar that could be 
heard above every other sound; the horizon seemed only across 
the way, — a mighty upheaval of water clouded by mist and full 
of spoil. 



— 50 — 

Between 2:30 and 5 o'clock the wharves and bathhouses suc- 
cumbed, and soon there was not a stick of timber between sea 
and shore. The gale was then at its height and half an hour 
more it would have destroyed many a home. Just as it seemed 
that the sea would sweep houses and people away the wind 
changed round and blew equally against it. I saw the great roll- 
ing crests scatter their furious spray, then flatten out and sud- 
denly recede; moment by moment the victory was made surer, 
and in two hours the watery giant was conquered, and we had 
nothing more to fear, as he lipped the shore far below his previ- 
ous usurpation." 

At Bay St. Louis, Miss., the storm began on Sunday morn- 
ing about 8 o'clock with a heavy rain. The rain continued all 
day, and the wind increased in fury every hour. It rained and 
blew big guns all night, but the full force of the storm was not 
felt until about 5:30 on Monday morning. Then it blew a reg- 
ular cyclone, and every bathhouse on the beach from one end to 
the other was swept away and hurled out into the raging waters. 
Trees along the beach were uprooted, while the roofs of nearly 
all of the outhouses were blown away. A negro church was un- 
roofed and the roof thrown alongside of the building. Every yacht, 
schooner and small craft that was moored to the various land- 
ings were torn from their posts, and were either dashed to pieces 
against the ruins of the wharves or were blown high and dry 
ashore. Eight or nine large schooners were washed ashore, and 
either ruined or badly damaged; $250,000 would not cover the 
damage done the beach and Bay. So far as has been ascertained, 
but one life was lost, although many had narrow escapes from 
death. 

Charlie Chariot, one of the crew of the schooner Centennial, 
which was wrecked in front of Mr. F. Butler's home, in Wave- 
land, was washed away and drowned while clinging to the keel 
of the capsized vessel . The Centennial was under command of 
Capt. W. H. McDonald, brother of Hon. John McDonald, mayor 
of Pass Christian, and was anchored off the Pass. About mid- 
night the anchor chain broke, and in making an effort to draw it 
aboard and get under way he was knocked overboard by the 
boom. From midnight until day he fought a terrible battle for 
his life. Many times he was on the point of giving up, and 
would have been drowned had he not secured a piece of timber 
on which to rest his body. About day he was washed on the 
drift of the broken railroad bridge and managed to crawl from 
that upon the bridge, that was still standing, but over which the 
waves were furiously dashing. 

Manuel Marti and Johnnie Dougherty, draw bridge tenders, 
were not rescued until late Monday afternoon. When they saw 
the bridge was doomed, they opened wide the draw and thus 
saved themselves, while the bridge was washed away for many 
hundred feet on each side. 



— 51 - 

At Pass Christian the havoc was terrible. Every vessel in 
the vicinity except a snaall cat boat was wrecked; every wharf 
and bathhouse was washed away; houses were torn to pieces, 
and the waves rolled through it threatening to wipe it out of 
existence The damage here was over $100,000. 

At Mississippi City, De Buys and Beauvoir (the home of 
Jefferson Davis), in fact all along the coast, the same story of 
death and damage was repeated. Houses destroyed, roads 
ruined, fences and outbuildings prostrated, the beach torn and 
seamed and scarred by the mighty pounding of the waves which 
rolled furiously in, bearing on their crests the timbers of 
wrecked vessels and the bodies of their drowned crews. Column 
after column of the newspapers was filled with lists of the ves- 
sels lost, and the dead were so numerous that only the number, 
not the names, were given in the reports. At the Rigolets, (the 
pass from Lake Pontchartrain to Lake Borgne) sixteen lives 
were lost, — three captains of vessels with thirteen of their 
crews. The schooner Angeline with her captain and crew dis- 
appeared ; not a timber of the boat nor a single body of all who 
manned her were ever found. 

The City of Mobile, the point where the Louisville and 
Nashville road leaves the gulf and strikes north, was a heavy 
sufferer. The damage here was in the neighborhood of a quar- 
ter of a million dollars. 

Mobile is situated at the head of Mobile bay, where the 
river of the same name enters it. Like New Orleans it has its 
suburbs and water side resorts, where many thousands of dollars 
were invested. But not only these places were stricken by the 
storm. The water invaded the business houses on the principal 
streets, and thousands of dollars' worth of goods were damaged. 
A number of vessels were driven ashore; one steamer, after her 
passengers and crew escaped, was lifted on the crest of a wave 
and carried in and deposited across the "shell road," Mobile's 
chief drive . Every wharf and bath house on the western shore, 
from the city to the mouth of Dog river was swept away. On 
this same shore a singular effect of the storm was seen. In the 
memory of the oldest inhabitant there was not a time when it 
was not covered with logs and debris of all sorts, thrown there 
by the waters on their way to the gulf. The storm swept it 
bare and for the first time in the history of Mobile the western 
shore showed a clean beach of pure white sand. The handsome 
courthouse was damaged to the extent of three or four thousand 
dollars. The mills in the vicinity suffered severely, both in 
damage to buildings and machinery and in loss of stock. One 
merchant alone lost $4000 worth of salt. By a singular freak 
the wind took a piece of marsh about 40 feet square and 2 feet 
thick and turned it completely upside down, leaving a pond for 
ducks and a hill at the other side. Mr. Frank Ruter found a 



— 52 — 

grand piano floating in the bay and brought it ashore; no owner 
could be found for it. 

All the suburbs of Mobile, and the little hamlets near it 
suffered severely. The residence of Henry Seaman was car- 
ried away by the flood, himself and family on top of it. As 
they drove before the storm a huge alligator climbed aboard, 
and refused to vacate, though repeatedly clubbed over the 
head by Seaman. The family were rescued from their perilous 
position. 

In the marshes around Mobile were numerous market 
gardens, most of them cultivated by Germans, who, with their 
families, lived in their little plots. Tbey were devastated. 
Not only the crops, but the gardens themselves were utterly 
destroyed and the land reduced to the original marsh from 
which it was redeemed by the labor of these men. Nor was this 
the worst. For days after the storm abated the bodies of 
these poor people were found, where they had been carried by 
the waves or blown by the wind, in the stagnant pools which 
studded the marshes. 

The heaviest sufferer from the storm was the Louisville 
& Nashville railroad. There was hardly a foot of its road from 
New Orleans to Mobile that was not damaged; and when it is 
stated that a large part of it is composed of long and costly 
drawbridges spanning "passes" which are really arms of the 
gulf, and that these were wrecked, it can be seen that damage 
meant destruction. 

Of the Bay St. Louis bridge there only remained a half 
mile on the Bay side and the iron draw near the Pass, or east 
end; of the balance there was not a trace, not a stringer or rail 
left on the posts. 

The Ocean Springs bridge at Scranton was badly damaged; 
three miles of track between Scranton and West Pascagoula 
entirely gone and roadbed more or less damaged. The track 
material was found in the marsh, scattered far and wide from 
its original position. One span of the long iron bridge at 
West Pascagoula was down in the river a total wreck, and the 
remainder of the bridge was damaged. The bridge across Bi- 
loxi bay, except the draw and about seventy spans, was washed 
away. The assistant drawkeeper was drowned. The tender 
saved his life by climbing upon the draw, whence he was res- 
cued by lifeboats upon the subsidence of the waters. The 
bridge at Bay St. Louis was all lost with the exception of the 
draw and 170 bents. 

There was over 7500 feet of the Biloxi bridge destroyed, 
while over a mile of the Bay St. Louis bridge was washed into 
the gulf. Every stick of the Back Bay trestle and every grain 
of the fill at the same point completely disappeared. 



-53 — 

Between Gulf View and Claiborne, about a mile of the 
track was washed away, and there were also washouts at Rigo- 
lets and Lake Catherine, and between Rigolets and Lookout. 

For a distance of two miles and a half between Micheaud 
and the Chef the track was in a bad condition. The heavy 
wind storm had driven the water from the gulf until it over- 
flowed the tracks, and when it receded it had carried the earth 
filling between the ties with it. At Chef Menteur a worse 
state of things greeted the officials. The Lake Catherine fill 




THK BIL.OXI BRIDGK. 

was found to have been washed away for a distance of about 
350 feet. This fill is at the place where the line crosses Lake 
Catherine, just beyond the Chef station. Instead of bridging 
the water it was filled in and boxed on either side. This fill- 
ing had been washed away, thereby causing the tracks to sink 
into the lake. 

Just beyond the Rigolets bridge the greatest washout 
ever happening to a railroad in the South occurred. As far as 
the eye could reach, the straight road bed could be seen and 
not a vestige of a crosstie or rail was anywhere. The hard 
road bed was smooth on the surface and a horse could 



— 54 — 

have been trotted along where the trains had been running on 
the iron bands without encountering a single obstacle, except 
the occasional gap where the sand in the road was soft and the 
water made a small opening. Along the side of the track for 
many miles a bayou about 12 feet wide runs within 10 feet of 
the track. All the rails and crossties had been washed into 
this canal and were buried out of sight. Every few hundred 
feet the trackj had been broken and the ends of the rails 
were twisted out of all shape and bent and almost tied in 
knots. This washout extended without a break to Lookout, a 
distance of three miles. 

But it would take too much space to describe all the dam- 
age in detail. Enough has been said to give an idea of what 
it was. The scene just described was repeated over and over 
again, mile after mile, almost to Mobile. 

The telegraph lines were down everywhere, poles snapped 
off or washed out of the ground, wires broken and twisted into 
a tangled web, and all communication cut off; and a train 
loaded with passengers was caught between two of the 
wrecked bridges, unable to get back or go forward, and lay 
exposed to that dreadful storm all night. 

By a stroke of good fortune Mr. Charles Marshall, super- 
intendent of the wrecked division, hapj)ened to be in Mobile, 
the east end of the division, while his chief clerk, Mr. A. J. 
Jacobs, was in New Orleans. Both immediately began work 
from their respective ends of the wrecked division and by 
laboring night and day reopened traffic in two weeks; the 
lowest estimate made of the time necessary to do so being one 
month. How it was done is best told in the words of Mr. 
Marshall in an interview in the New Orleans Picayune the 
day the road re-opened for travel. 

"I was in Mobile," he said, "having gone over there to see 
if I could arrange for the capture of the men who wrecked our 
train at Gulfport, and also to look after the strike which had 
not as yet adjusted itself, when the first news of the great 
storm reached me. Late Sunday night I received the inform- 
ation from Scranton and Biloxi, that there was a great gale 
blowing there, and danger imminent to our road, as well as to 
the property and lives of the people. I was at the telegraph 
office anxious to get all the news about it, for I was apprehen- 
sive that if the storm was very severe that our road would 
suffer, as it has done in the past. But I was not permitted to 
get another telegram, for the wires were all down. Then I 
knew that the mischief was to pay, and made all arrangements 
to get out early Monday morning, to investigate the matter. 
Monday morning arrived, and with it as fierce a gale as I ever 
saw. The storm in this city was at night, between 10 and 3 
o'clock, so I learn, but in Mobile the greater wind blew be- 



— 55 — 

tween 3 o'clock and daylight. I had my train all ready to go to 
Scranton, at daylight, but the wind was so wild and seemed to 
be hungering so to blow something away, that for a while I 
hesitated in starting out. As its fury, however, did not seem 
to abate, I deemed it best to go ahead. I had no trouble in 
getting within a few miles of Scranton, and there I learned of 
the vast damage done to our road all along the line. I went 
right to work, as a matter of course, and there was work to bo 
done, as I found out later. 

"As soon as I could, all arrangements were made for men 
and materia'. Telegraphic communication was had with our 
officials at the other end of the line, and, the situation realized, 
material began to arrive. Much of it was in readiness to be 
used, and much of it was not. I had no trouble in getting 
men, but the proper kind of material was at first hard to se- 
cure. At last, however", after a few days, I had barges of it on 
the bay, and a tug on hand to haul it about. The first thing 
was to get matters systematized. I made Scranton a sort of 
base of operations, and from thei'e progressed along the line 
as fast as the repairs would permit. Having gotten all the 
needed material on hand, the work of repairs was conducted 
smoothly enough. 

"At Biloxi there was a crew of nearly 300 men, under the 
supervision of the company's chief engineer, Mr. R. Montfort. 
At Bay St. Louis, our superintendent of bridges, Mr. H. Bolla, 
had charge of the work, and at Ocean Springs, Mr. Fay. At 
each of the other points, there was an engineer of the road 
stationed, and a gang of men placed at his disposal In each 
of these gangs there was the greatest system that could be es- 
tablished. There were men to do every part of the work, and 
these men did nothing else, except that which was assigned to 
them. Sub-bosses were in charge of smaller gangs, all under 
the direction of a head engineer. 

"There was a pile driver at every bridge, and a crew of men 
to work it. The pile-driving gang drove piles where needed, 
and straightened up those which had been washed aside by the 
storm. Most of the work consisted of the latter, the water, 
though fierce enough, not being able to entirely drive the deep 
driven piles from their position. Following on the heels of the 
pile drivers came the stringermen, whose duty it was to place 
the long stringers in position on the tops of the piles, upon whick 
the ties were to be laid. This done, along came the capping 
meu, those who fastened the stringers in position and made theia 
ready for the receipt of the ties. The next gang placed the ties 
in position, another following fastened them as they should be, 
while still another gang hauled the rails from the rafts and 
barges underneath, and laid them in position . The next gang 
nailed the rails in place and the following gang a<^usted them t© 



the proper width. This placed the track in shape, and then along 
came the inspectors, who looked over the work and saw that it 
was all right. 

"Thus was the work of rejjair carried on, a gang thus sys- 
tematized being at each bridge of au}' importance, though most 
of them were concentrated at Biloxi, Bay St. Louis and Ocean 
Springs. At all the other less serious breaks smaller gangs, 
working under the same system, carried the repairs as rapidly 
as possible. You can readily see that witli a force of 600 men, 
all thus systematized, when they all got down to business we 
made things move. 

"Well, we had to," continued Mr . Marshall, "for time was 
worth to us the sum of $5 per minute — that is the company was 
being put to that much expense in the employment of laborers 
and in the loss from delaying of traing and the detention of bu- 
siness, or approximately that amount. As soon as one piece of 
work was finished another was begun. Having finished the 
work at Ocean Springs, which was nothing serious, without 
hardly even stopping for a meal the entire gang moved on as 
fast as possible to Bay St. Louis, where the same system was 
adopted and the work finished. We had some trouble on ac- 
count of the barges containing some of the material being blown 
away, but they were soon recovered and gotten within easy 
access, having a tug at hand for all such emergencies. The work 
looked at first as almost a futile task for I never saw such wreck, 
ruin and devastation. Everything was torn all to pieces, the 
solidly built trestling and tracts in many places being blown 
from their positions intact and swept to the four winds of the 
earth. Some of our road, for all I know, is in the Gulf of Mex- 
ico 100 miles from land, much of it, perhaps, further away. I 
learn, however, that there is a string of the Bay St. Louis bridge 
300 or 400 feet long off the coast some fifteen or twenty miles, 
on the Chandeleur island. Mr. Montfort is over there now, with 
a force of men, to see if he can't capture it and bring it back. All 
along the coast, on all the small islands, I understand there are 
strings of our track lying high and dry on the sands." 

Speaking of the manner in which the night work was carried 
on, Mr. Marshall said. 

"We had large iron baskets extemporized and hung from 
wires stretched along the line of operation. In these baskets 
was constantly kept burning a large bright fire of pine knots, for 
of this material there is an abundance there. The locomotives 
also, on both ends of the line, furnish us considerable light. It 
was rather a picturesque scene to see 400 or 500 men at work in 
the glimmering rays of a pine knot fire. The negroes, however, 
seemed to like the night work, and for several nights we accom- 
plished as much good as during the day." 



— 57 — 
CHAPTER VI. 

THE DEAD AND THE LIVING. 

The whole gulf coast, from Barataria bay to Mobile, both 
banks of the Mississippi river, from Polute-a-la-Hache to the 
Jetties, and the desolate marshes between were strewed with 
the bodies of the dead. Men, women and little children, 
drowned in the mad rush of the angry water, or mangled be- 
yond recognition by the huge logs and house timbers which 
were borne upon the flood, or dashed to death against trees 
and piles and houses by the tidal wave, lay cold in death on 
the devastated fields, in the rank rushes of the marsh, in the 
depths of the moss-hung swamps and on the white sands ot 
the seashore. Some lay dead by their own hearthstone, their 
life crushed out by their own roof tree; some were carried 
miles and miles from their homes; and some were swept out 
to sea never to be found. Nor was it the dead alone who were 
thus carried away. When the sun rose on Monday morning it 
looked down on many a mangled and bruised form, m which 
there was yet just enough of life remaining to be conscious ot 
its own suffering, and to realize the helplessness of its own 
condition and the narrow hope of rescue. Many of these were 
foundin time to save their lives; but the burial parties found 
many another whose position told all too plainly that death 
had come only after many, many hours of suffermg, in that 
awful solitude, with no witnesses save the foul carrion birds 
which circled aloft, waiting their hour, which they knew would 

come. , , . ,, . . , 

Many of these incidents will be told in their appropriate 
place in this work; now we are dealing with the number of 

the dead. .„ , , 

How many of these there were will never be known ex- 
actly for all were never found. Some were swept to sea, some 
werecarried into the trackless marsh or tangled swamp where 
the foot of man has never trod, and some found sepulture in 
the "trembling prairie" in graves dug by their own weight. 

The following list gives the number of the dead found and 
buried at the places named; those marked as lost from vessels 
were seen by witnesses to go down to their death: 

THE i>e:-a.x>. 



Cheniere Caminada 8^2 

Bayou Cook ^"h 

Bayou Shute ... J^ 

Bayou Lafond 1^0 

Bird Island ^U 

Bayou Andre (All Chinamen) o^ 



— 58- 

TH£ D£}AD— continued. 

Grand Bayou 16 

Bayou Challon 40 

Grand Lake 20 

Cabanage 20 

Near Shell Beach 17 

Simon Island 15 

Pearl River 10 

Grand Isle 27 

St. Malo (All Malays) ".' 12 

Bayou Dufon 11 

Barthelemy 7 

Grand Bank 4 

Grand Prairie 4 

Razor Island 5 

Empire Mill 3 

Oyster Bayou 3 

Fort St. Philip 6 

Point Pleasant 5 

Hospital Bay 4 

Faesterling's- 3 

Grand Bay 3 

Old Quarantine 2 

Bayou Chato 3 

Nairn , 1 

Port Eads 1 

Happy Jack 2 

Nicholls Postoffice 4 

Back Bay .* 1 

Stockf elths 1 

Sixty Mile Point 3 

Devil'sFlat 1 

Bolivar Point 2 

Socola's 7 

Riceland 2 

Chandeleur Island 100 

Biloxi 1 

Bay St. Louis 2 

Mobile 12 

Lost on Schooner Alice McGuigan 7 

Lost on Schooner Angeline 6 

Lost on Schooner New Union 6 

Lost on Bark Rosella Smith 3 

Lost on Lugger Young American 15 

Lost on Bark Annie E. B 6 

Lost on Sloop Laura B 6 

Lost on Lugger Three Brothers . 3 

Lost on Sloop Alice 2 

Lost on Barge Hero 1 



— 59 — 



THE DKAD— continned. 

Lost ou Barge Boss 1 

Lost on Schooner Bertha 3 

Lost on Lugger Sunny 3 

Lost ou Schooner Premier 5 

Lost on Schooner Centennial 2 

Lost on Schooner Pecourt 5 

Lost on Unknown Schooner 3 

Total 16u7 

To show that the foregoing figures are not guess work, 
the following list of families at Cheniere Camiuada is given, 

showing the number of saved and lost in each family, so far 
as the names could be ascertained: 

Saved. Dead 

Victor Busere 1 7 

Jack Sponge . . 8 

Joseph Sponge 1 5 

Ouace Dantin 1 6 

George Dantin 6 

John Michel 1 4 

Pierre Nicol 9 

Talesfort Bonnamour. . .. 3 

Antone Allanda 1 5 

Pierre Amont 1 2 

Orelien Crosby 8 

Mr. Carmody 1 

— . Tracy 1 

— . Joseph 1 

— , Carpenter 1 

Oscar Terrebonne .... 4 I 

Dr. Frederick Collin .... 2 

Licar Jambon 2 2 

Andre Pizani . . 5 



Saved. Dead 

Rodolph Cheramie .... 10 . . 

Louis Malcon . . 1 4 

Pierre Colin 7 

Sihs Viger 7 1 

Louis Chabert 10 

Veronnique Pitre .... 1 2 

Prospere Terrebonne . . 4 5 

Dupres Terrebonne .... 2 

Louis Terrebonne 2 2 

David Pitre 7 4 

Mme. Richard Pitre ... 4 

Didier Pitre 2 . . 

Augustin Gaspard . . G 

Ernest Gaspard 3 5 

Oleus Cheramie 8 . . 

Felicien Lefurt . 7 . . 

Harisonne Gaspard 7 

Elfege Lefort 5 .. 

Alexis Lefort 9 . . 

Millen Lefort 2 . . 

Esebe Crosbe 2 . . 

Adrien Lefort 4 . . 

Borgard Viger 8 

Armand Crosbe 5 1 

Julien Crosbe 3 

Nicolas Turol 3 . . 

Tele Terrebonne .... 14 . . 

John Rebstock 11 . . 

Camil Rebstock 3 

Arthur Terrebonne 2 . . 

Pierre Turol 4 .. 

Etienne Curol 2 . . 



Leopold Pizani 7 

Maick Allen 5 

Michel Terrebonne 7 1 

Michel Jambon 7 . . 

Theodule Terrebonne . . 1 4 

Leon Cherriot 1 5 

Picha Sponge 5 . . 

Lucien Terrebonne ... 8 . . 

Manuel Incaiade 2 

Philip Billili 1 G 

Marius Perrin 1 4 

Chapha Danlin 2 

Odras Sponge_ 3 . , 



-66 



Saved. Dead 

3 

'7 

1 
1 



Saved. Dead 



Andres Curol 9 

Melfort Gaspard 6 

Melfort Arnodin 8 

Livode Pitre 6 

Auguste Macolm 6 

Mme. Malcona 2 

Mme. Justin Pitre .... 6 

David Pitre 2 

Leodgard Pitre 1 

Bebe Labave, 4 

Augustine Pitre 2 5 

Marc Pissiola 3 

Dupres Terrebonne ... 8 

Aisere Pitre 5 10 

Jerazime Dantiu 3 

Thomas Alario 3 7 

John Kilgin 1 6 

John Sanamon 2 5 

Mme. Jacko Terrebonne 4 

Steph Pitre 2 

Raimond Terrebonne . . I 

Alexanere Anselm 5 

Robert Martin 6 

Guillaume Martin 5 

Jos Martin 11 

Jerazime Dantin 9 

Octave Dantin 5 

Francois Sandras 3 

Singesse Terrebonne . . 8 

John Stout 2 

Paul Malgom 1 5 

Charles Gilbot 4 

Felicien Sandras 1 2 

Alexis Sandras 4 

Besinthe Sinblanc 7 

Pierre Grimaud 2 

Mme. Victor Sandras. . 5 4 

Thomas Martin 6 

John Miller 3 

Frank Gilbert. 5 4 

John Hadje 1 

Jeck Fallen 1 

Mme. Exavier Sandras. 1 

Claude Gilbos 1 6 

Jos. Lafont 1 3 

Andre Gilbot 2 

Mme. Joseph Cotton. . . 4 . . 

Jos. Gamesse 3 4 



Lucien Theniat 

Leo Amandin 

Belente Terrebonne . . 
Rudolph Terrebonne. . 

Didemi Darbin 

Orelier Oroby 

Mme. John Polket . . . 

Opil Bouziga 

Clement Bouziga 

Romain Delgrandij . . 
Mme. Dom. Bouziga. . 

Miguel Lanane 

Alexis Terrebonne . . . 

Leopold Guedry 

Thomas Valena 

Charles Lafont 

Charles Lafont, Jr ... 

Pete Lafont 

Theogeni Lafont 

Theophile Guedry .... 
Blanchard Guedry . . . 

Lee Demer 

Manuel Terrebonne . . 

Joe Boudro 

Dr. Frey 

Alexis Crosby 

Pit Labove 

Ovide Petit 

Michel Never. 

Clebert Boudro 

Mme. Faustin Boudro 

Dupret Lizard 

Ernest Angelleto 

Ozeme Cherami 

Julien Boudro ... ... 

Faustin Boudro 

Clemene Claws 

Enoch Claws 

Victor Arnodin 

Jos . Ortis 

Alexis Serriot ........ 

Armand Palket 

Antoine Volence 

Zephirin Duet 

Jos. Terrebonne 

Adam Sauveur 

Andre Collin 

Mme. Duces 



61 — 



Saved. Dead. 

Gaspard Sicard 1 3 

Constatin Itros ....... 1 6 

Ernest Lafonc 5 

Eouard Terrebonne. .. . 3 1 

Etienne Terrebonne ... 8 . . 

Henry Gardey 8 

Dupre Terrebonne 10 

Louis Gurdey 6 

Lorence Terrebonne 7 

Bonnard Jambon 9 

Raphael Pitre 4 . . 

Jos. Pitre 9 

Adam Duet 7 1 

Adrien Pitre 6 

Auguste Pitre 5 

Dede Lafont 3 4 

Brou Brankly 3 9 

Francois Bartelleme. . . 2 7 

Auguste Bonamour .... 1 11 

Batiste Abillet 4 5 

William Reed 1 8 

W. Corron 4 

Pierre Dantin 1 1 

Dorcily Dantin 7 

Etienne Perrin 3 3 

Emile Angellet 2 5 

Etienne Perrin 1 3 

Aleide Pisanie ■ 3 

Hyppolyte EUein 2 4 



Saved. Dead. 

Louis Broussard 1 5 

Wilfred Pitre 2 3 

Donnatien Coron 8 . . 

Join Valence 1 6 

Louis Lafont 1 9 

Felix Pisanie 8 

Andre Pisanie 4 

Lesta Cheramie . . 6 

Cirlaque Prospery 3 2 

Leonce Prospery 1 3 

Antoine Valence 10 

Mme. Jos. Incalade. . • . 2 

Theodore Crosbe 2 

Albertine Pisanie 2 7 

Theodore Pisanie 1 5 

Martin Bonne 6 

Joseph Lefort 3 

Jacques Collin 5 

Alfrtd Collin 5 

Mme. Peltier 2 

Filazaque Collin 5 

Ernest Lefort ..... 8 

Adrien Sarol 3 

Noel Lefort 8 

Alice Lefort 6 

Julien Lefort 7 

Leonce Pitre 4 

Felicien Collin 6 



RESCUE AND KELIEF. 

From the character, direction and intensity of the storm 
in New Orleans the residents of that city apprehended that gieat 
damage had been done in South Louisiana, but no one dreamed 
of its extent. And while it was believed that much ])roperty 
had been destroyed and that perhaps a life or two had bten 
lost by the wrecking of vessels, there was not an idea of 
the utter destruction and terrible loss of life which had 
occurred, consequently there was no concerted actiou look- 
ing to relief until Wednesday afternoon. That afternoon the 
lugger Good Mother, of Cheniere Caminada, the only vessel of 
that place which was not wrecked, reached New Orleans with 
the news of the dreadful calamity. Captain Terrebonne, her 
commander (a hero who had saved some three score lives during 
the storm), appealed to the people to go to the rescue of the 
survivors. The response was instantaneous. The lugger 



62 



landed in front of the French Market, and before her 
captain had concluded his story the merchants and resi- 
dents of that vicinity began to gather food and clothing. 
They loaded the Good Mother with their contributions and she 
started on her return trip. This boat succored one hundred 
and forty families. Of course the news reached the newspaper 
offices immediately, and was promptly bulletined. But bulletin- 




ROBKKT BLEAKliEV, Chairman Relief Committee. 

ing the news or sending boats after further information did not 
satisfy the New Orleans papers. The New Orleans Times- 
Democrat chartered a boat, loaded ber with supplies and sent 
her down Bayou Barataria. The New Orleans Picayune imme- 
diately chartered the steamer Emma McSweeney, loaded her with 
a cargo of food, clothing, medicines and water, and sent aboard 
her a complete crew with a staff of helpers, doctors and report- 
ers, with orders to first relieve the distress and then to get and 
bring in the news. Loaded to the guards the McSweeney 
swung out into the stream and departed on her errand of mercy. 



— 63 — 

That night several members of the Commercial Club (one of 
the leading social clubs in New Orleans) held a conference and 
the result was the following call, which appeared next morning 
in all the papers : 

"The citizens of New Orleans are invited to meet in the 
rooms of the Commercial Club, 152 and 154 Canal street, at 12 




THE GOOD MOTHER. 

m. to-day to take immediate action toward aiding in the rescue 
of those who maj be still alive but helpless at Chtniere and 
Grand Isle. 

"Robert Bleakley, President." 

In response to this call a meeting was held at the appointed 
time and an executive relief committee with full powers was ap- 
pointed, with Mr. Bleakley as chairman. This committee went 
immediately to work. Funds were collected, supplies purchased, 



— 64 — 

medicines obtained and volunteers for relief parties enlisted. 
One party was sent by rail down the bank of the Mississippi 
to relieve the distress there; the steamboat Gamma was char- 
tered and sent with clothing, food, medicine, water, surgeons 
and searching parties down to the Barataria section, and the 
steamer Alice, similarly equipped, was dispatched through lake 
Pontchartrain to the Louisiana Marsh and the gulf coast and its 
islands. 

The Times-Democrat sent out the steamer Amelia Harvey 
on a similar errand down Bayou Barataria, 




THE PICAYUNE'S. RELIKF BOAT. 

The French Market Protective Association organized a com- 
mittee with Mr. John Alsina as chairman, and it dispatched sim- 
ilar aid by luggers. Boatload after boatload of necessaries was 
sent to the stricken section, and well it was that it was done, for 
everything was gone; in many instances the storm had torn 
even the clothes from the backs of the survivors, leaving them 
as naked as when they came into the world. 

The various commercial organizations of New Orleans ap- 
pointed committees to raise funds, in which they were emi- 
nently successful, and the contributions poured in. The Citi- 
zens' Relief Committee issued the following call, which was 
iberally responded to ; 



.-.65 




THE CITIZEKS RELiIEF COMMITTEE'S BOAT. 



— 66 — 

To the People of New Orleans : The committee for the 
relief of the storm sufferers request donations from the people 
of articles of wearing apj^arel for both adults and children, 
shoes, hats, blankets, etc., all of which are urgently needed. 
Send to 126 Camp street, opposite Lafayette square, or notify 
committee at that number, and articles will be sent for. 

EOBEET BlEAKLEY, 

Chairman Executive Committee. 

Jno. C. Wickliffe, Secretary. 

The New Orleans Board of Trade sent out the following 
appeal : 

New Oeleans, October 5, 1893. 

The awful calamity which has overtaken the residents of 
the islands and coast near our city should appeal to the charity 
of all our citizens. 

Food, medicine, and the means of assisting ihose unfor- 
tunates are [necessary immediately, and the Board of Trade 
urges liberal contributions of cash and supplies, which will be 
distributed by the executive copamittee of the Board of Trade, 
of which Mr. Hugh McCloskey is chairman. 

Each member of the following committees is authorized 
to solicit and collect subscriptions as stated above : 

Provisions — Hugh McCloskey, Max Schwabacher, Simon 
Pfeifer. 

Grain and Naval Stores — F. J. Odendahl, Jno. E. Simpson, 
Jno. T. Gibbons. 

Ei«e — Jos. Buhler, F. G. Ernst, Jno, A. Hubbard. 
Grocers — W. L. Saxon, I. H. Stauffer, Jr., Nicholas Burke. 
Coffee — Chas. Dittman, E. P. Cottraux, A. L. Arnold. 
Esculents — Henry Kahn, Leon Bloch, Martial Casse. 
Brokers — W . H. Beanham, Wm. A. Gordon, D. R. Graham. 

John M. Pakker, President 
Hy. H. Smith, Secretary. 

And on the next day sent the following telegram: 

To the Commercial Exchanges at Chicago, St. Louis, Cincinnati, 
Kansas City, New York, Philadelphia, Boston, Baltimore, 
Pittsburg, Minneapolis, St. Paul, Omaha and other 
jDlaces : 
A terrible disaster has destroyed a majority of the inhabi- 
tants of the islands and marshes adjacent to this city, and the 
survivors are left penniless, their stock, houses, boats and 
means of livelihood gone, and they are in dire distress. 

The people of Louisiana will bury the dead and feed the 
starving, but appeal to a generous public to assist in con- 
tributions which will enable thousands of deserving people 
to again follow their avocations and support their families. 



— 67 — 

Subscriptions of every character will bfe thankfully re- 
ceived and be disbursed by the executive committee of the 
Board of Trade, acting jointly with committees of the other 
commercial bodies. 

John M. Paeker. Jr., 

President Board of Trade. 

The Ked Cross Society of Louisiana, fully alive to the 
emergency, issued the following call : 

Bed Cross Society of Louisiana, ) 
New Orleans, Oct. 4, 1893. j 
To the Public: 

The Bed Cross Society of Louisiana, of which Miss Clara 
Barton is the national executive, does hereby issue a call upon 
the public generally for subscriptions and contributions in aid 
of the sufferers from the recent storms in Southeast Louisiana, 
who are at present without food or shelter. The society re- 
quests that all subscriptions and contributions be made to 
John M. Coos, treasurer, at No. 2 Tchoupitoulas street. 

J. B. Vinet, President, 
E. K. Skinner, Secretary. 

The various secret societies sent in their contributions; the 
Southern Pacific Eailroad sent a check for a thousand dollars; 
the Grand Opera House, the Academy of Music and the St. 
Charles Theatre each tendered a benefit, the gross proceeds of 
which went to the fund; the pupils of the public schools gave 
their pocket money to the fund, thirty, forty and fifty dollars 
being sent in by each school; the city council of New Orleans 
voted $2500 to the fund and the individual members added a 
handsome donation from their own pockets. Eeplies to the 
appeal made by the Board of Trade began then to come in. It is 
impossible to particularize, for the contributions came from all 
over the country from individuals and organizations, especially 
the commercial ones, and were promptly applied. The churches 
of all sects and denominations set apart a special Sunday for 
collections and realized a large sum which was turned over to 
the committee. 

The Stevedores and Longshoremen's Benevolent Association, 
an organization of laboring men, contributed one thousand 
dollars of their hard-earned wages. 

Soon the various organizations recognized that relief could 
be more effectually given under one directing head and all of 
them were merged into the Citizens' Central Storm Belief Com- 
mittee, of which Mr. Bleakley was chaii-man, which committee is 
still in existence and at work when this book goes to press. 
This committee worked in conjunction with the police juries of 
the parishes of Jefferson, Plaquemines and St. Bernard in which 



— 68 




THK RED CROSS HEADQUARTERS. 



— 69 — 

the devastation occurred. Not only were the immediate neces- 
sities of the people supplied but they were assisted to rebuild 
their homes and to raise, relaunch or repair their wrecked boats 
and were placed in a position to again become self-supporting. 

But there were some instances of individual action which 
should be recorded. 

Mrs. Ludwig, whose general store has long been known to 
nearly all the fishermen along the Gulf coast, dealt out goods to 
all who called for them, wholly regardless of their ability or ina- 
bility to pay for them, until her store was completely emptied, 
the only person she refused being a man who desired to buy out 
her entire stock of certain necessities with a view of making a 
"corner" on them. 

Mr. George Jurgens, a New Orleans merchant, who owned 
an orange farm on the lower Mississippi, went down on Monday 
morning to see to what extent he had been damaged. When he 
reached there the suffering and dead made him forget his own 
affairs. A few of his houses had withstood tbe storm. He 
filled them with sufferers, he divided among them every ounce 
of food on his place. He then hurried to New Orleans and sent 
down at his own cost, food, clothing, bedding and medicine. 
Then covered with mud, he appeared before the first meeting of 
citizens, told of the destitution, and then went immediately back 
at the head of a relief party. 

The store of Mark Cuessiola at Grand Isle was wrecked but 
the spirit of the owner was not destroyed. He had suffered, but 
others, he knew, who could less afford to suffer, had suffered 
even more. Bright and early the next morning he made an in- 
ventory of his goods and found about $700 worth that were fit 
for use. He summoned his neighbors and gave them all that he 
did not himself actually need for a day or two. 

Fred. Stockfleth, a store keeper of the lower Mississippi 
threw open his house and his store to the sufferers and gave 
away almost his entire stock. One of the sufferers among the 
scores relieved by Mr. Stockfleth voiced the sentiments of all 
when he said: 

"I was stark naked, bleeding, and so hungry I could scarce- 
ly stand. He took me in and fed me and clothed me. What he 
did for me is but a repetition of what he did for every sufferer. 
Men like him are rare . He did more than any other three men 
in this section for the sufferers, and the saved remnant of the 
stricken people of Austria will ever be mindful of what he has 
done for us. God bless him." 

The generous response to her appeal in her hour of need 
will ever be remembered in Louisiana. It knew neither section- 
al lines nor contiguity of situation, but came from the entire 
country. Americans were in distress and Americans came to 
their assistance. 



— 70-- 
CHAPTER VII. 

LAST ISLAND. 

Louisiana has had two horrors preceding this terrible calam- 
ity which resembled it but did not near approach it in loss of 
life. 

On the night of October 4, 1886, a cyclone accompanied by 
a tidal wave swept down upon the settlements on Johnson's 
Bayou and Sabine Pass in Southwestei'n Louisiana, utterly ruin- 
ing the country and killing about fifty people. 

A thrill of horror went through the State, and relief was 
promptly given. 

Her other disaster, known as the destruction of Last Island, 
more nearly approached the present one. Like it, it occurred 
on Sunday night, the date being August 10, 1856. Last Island 
lay west of Cheniere Caminada and Grand Isle, and, like the 
last, was a popular summer resort. When its storm occurred it 
was crowded with the representatives of the wealth and fashion 
of the Crescent City, and the loss of life was frightful. It was 
swept out of existence, the water rolling over it ten feet deep, 
and all that is now left of it is a narrow spit of sand. We repro- 
duce the account of the disaster as it appeared in tbe New Or- 
leans Picayune of August 16, 1856. This was the first account 
published of it, for news traveled slowly in those days. 

"Statement of rescuing party returned from Grand Isle : 

"They inform us that the storm commenced about 10 o'clock 
on Sunday morning, and a faithful picture of the calamity they 
declare to be beyond realization. The gale did not abate until 
Monday morning, and then the rain continued almost without 
intermission up to the time of their leaving the island, at times 
the wind rising pretty strongly again . The number of the vic- 
tims they estimated at over 200, at least 182 having been already 
counted. The island was swept by 2 o'clock on Sunday, having 
been overflowed between noon and that hour. The wind blew 
first from the north and the northern part of the island was then 
overflowed. Next the wind came from the east, which beat the 
water off from the north side of the island; afterwards the wind 
shifted to the south, and then the island became overwhelmed by 
the water of the gulf. Horses, cattle and even fish lay strewn 
dead about the island among the victims of the storm. It id be- 
lieved that many bodies have been washed out into the gulf. 

"The following is a letter written by a survivor of the dis- 
aster: 

"Bayou Boeuf, Aug. 14, 1856. 

"Dear Pic — You may have heard ere this reaches you of the 
dreadful catastrophe which happened on Last Island on Sunday, 
the 10th inst. As one of the sufferers, it becomes my duty to 
chronicle one of the most melancholy events which have ever 



— 71 — 

occurred. On Saturday night, the 9th inst., a heavy northeast 
wind prevailed, which excited the fears of a storm in the minds 
of the many; the wind increased gradually until 10 o'clock on 
Sunday morning, when there existed no longer any doubt that 
we were threatened with imminent danger. 

"From that time the wind blew a perfect hurricane; every 
building upon the island giving away, one after another, until 
nothing remained. At this moment every one sought the most 
elevated point on the island, exerting themselves at the same 
time to avoid the fragments of buildings which were scattered in 
every direction by the wind. 

"Many persons were wounded, some mortally. The 
water about this time (about 2 o'clock p. m.) commenced rising 
rapidly from the bay side and there could no longer be any doubt 
that the island would be submerged. The scene at this mo- 
ment forbids descrij)tion, men women and children were seen 
running in every direction, in search of some means of salva- 
tion. The violence of the wind, together with the rain, which 
fell like hail, and the sand which blinded their eyes, prevented 
many from reaching the objects they aimed at. At about 4 
o'clock the bay and gulf currents met, and the sea washed 
over the whole island. Those who were so fortunate as to find 
some object to cling to were seen floating in all directions. 
Many of them, however, were separated from the straw to 
which they clung for life, and launched into etei'nity; others 
were washed away by the rapid current and drowned before 
they could reach their point of destination. 

"Many were drowned from being stunned by scattered 
fragments of the buildings, which had been blown asunder by 
the storm. Many others were crushed by floating timbers and 
logs, which were removed from the beach, and met them on 
their journey. To attempt a description of this sad event 
would be useless. No words could depict the awful scene 
which occurred on the night between the 11th and 12th insts. 
It was not until the next morning, the 12th, that we could as- 
certain the extent of the disaster. 

"Upon my return after having drifted for about twenty 
hours, I found the steamer Star, which had arrived the day be- 
fore, and was lying at anchor, a perfect wreck, nothing but her 
hull and boilers, and a portion of her machinery remaining. 
Upon this wreck the lives of a large number were saved. Tow- 
ards her each one directed his path as he was recovering from 
the deep, and was welcomed with tears by his fellow-sufferers, 
who had been so fortunate as to escape. 

"The scene was heart-rending; the good fortune of many 
a poor individual in being saved was blighted by the news of 
the loss of a father, brother, sister, wife or some near relative. 

"I will not prolong the detail of this unparalled catastro- 
phe, but will give you the li^t, as correctly as I could obtain it, 
of those who were lost." 



-72 — 
CHAPTER yilT. 

PATHETIC INCIDENTS. 

The story of the storm would be incomplete without a 
record of some of the many acts of heroism which shine out 
from that background of horror, and a recital of some of the 
pathetic incidents which brought to the eyes of stalwart men 
tears of which they were not ashamed. All of them will never 
be known, for many a hero died with those he tried to save, 
and many an incident whose pathos would have moved a stoic 
left no witness alive to make it known. Nor is there space in 
a work of this description to record all that are known. But a 
few, culled here and there at random from different sections of 
the stricken country, are here related. 

Trainmen and passengers on the New Orleans and Gulf rail- 
road the day after the storm, saw a picture of a mother's cour- 
age and endurance they will never forget. The train was mov- 
ing slowly through a stretch of country below the Crescent City 
where the wind had played sad havoc, and had made of that 
section of Louisiana, already a dreary, repulsive place, a scene 
that would be a fitting addition to Dante's Inferno. The stag- 
nant waters of the marsh between the railroad and swamp be- 
yond had risen almost to the tops of the low latauia bushes and 
weeds, and on its foul surface the bodies of animals drowned by 
the tempest, were floating. Against the dark back ground of the 
forest with its uprooted and twisted trees, from which the gray 
moss fluttered ia tresses yards long, the figure of a woman was 
outlined. A woman, a mother, with a child in each arm and a 
bundle in a sheet which she held in her teeth, in such a spot, 
sent a thrill of horror over all who saw her. In the swamp from 
which she came, few hunters would have dared to penetrate, 
for it was a veritable jungle in which many dangers lurked, 
and the green scummed water in which she was wading almost 
to her waist, shoving aside as she went, the matted weeds and 
bushes in whose shelter reptiles hid, seemed too foul and horri- 
ble for human being to enter and not be overcome by its noisome 
caress. But mother love had been stronger than that heroine's 
fear of the animals that shrank and snarled in the dense swamps, 
or the reptiles that she knew were all about her in the stagnant 
water through which she waded, and straight toward the 
railroad she made her way, and reached it with no injury save 
that of exhaustion. The train had been stopped, and willing 
hands pulled the brave mother aboard. She placed the children 
she held in either arm on the car floor, then tenderly laid the 
bundle in the sheet she had carried by its corners in her teeth, 
on a seat, and as a faint wail came from it, she carefully drew 
from its snowy wrapping a tiny babe that cooed and laughed 
when clasped to the mother's bosom, as if it were safe in the home 



-73- 

nest that had been washed away by the flood. This heroine had 
travelled two miles through swamp and marsh land with her 
three children, and after passing through dangers that make 
brave men shrink to think of, guarded by the A'mighty, she 
saved herself and her babes. 

;;;^ By the flickering light of an oil lamp in Stockfleth's store 
and in the "still watches" of the Sabbath morn, one week after 
the storm, Maximillian Duplease told the story of the wreck of 
his camp on Cheniere Kouquille. He said: 

"My camp is twenty miles from here. On Sunday night the 
weather was bad, and I knew trouble was going to occur. At 8 
o'clock it was bad, and between that hour and 10 I went through 
years of agony. All night long I fought for my life and for the 
lives of those dear to me. At 10 o'clock the camp went to smash 
and we all fell into the roaring waters. When I came to a bit 
I found that my wife had the two children, one gripped in her 
teeth by the clothes and the other thrown across her shoulder, 
The water was breast-high and the footing, you may imagine, 
very bad. My kitchen table came floating by and I seized it, 
and on it I placed my wife, my eldest child being in her arms, 
while I took the infant on my left arm. With my right arm I 
encircled a post, and the table was kept in position by my wife, 
who also gripped another upright timber. From 10 o'clock till 
daylight we stayed there, fighting for our lives, every now and 
then being overwhelmed with water, till we thought the end was 
near. 

"On Monday morning the water subsided Then I went to 
hunt for a boat. There was not one to be found and until 
Thursday we were prisoners on the Cheniere, with nothing to 
eat or drink, save brackish salty water. On Thursday I found a 
skiff, and, after kissing my wife good-by, I started for Grand 
Isle, distant fifteen miles. I have a sister there and knew I could 
get help from her . At Fort Livingston I met Louis Valdon and 
Theo. 'Blackberry' in a skiff, and they, knowing me well, went 
to Cheniere Ronqnille and carried my family to my relalives . 
Then I came on here to look after my other relatives. There 
were six of them; now there is one," and here the poor fellow 
broke down and wept freely. 

Michael Trantovich, a Slavonian, had a frightful experience. 
His family consisted of his wife, Amelia; four sons, Michel, aged 
21; Ura, 16; George, 8, and Nick, 5. His sailor, Andrew Kuzzi, 
aged 26 years, was also in camp with the family. About 11 
o'clock Sunday night the house was demolished. Above the din 
he could hear the heart-rending cries of his wife. . He caught 
a post and seeing his son George swept along within reach, he 
grasped him. 

He then saw his son IJra, clasping the little fellow Nick, 
supported by another post. A heavy swell washed ^eorge from 



— 74 — 




t^ Z 



-^75- 

liis embrace, while the continuous overwasli of waves drowned 
the little fellow Nick in the arms of his 16-year old brother. Des- 
perate over the loss of his cherished ones, the father called out 
to his sole surviviDj/ son: "Farewell, Ura, I go to join your mother 
and brothers." He loosened his grip on the log and sank beneath 
the waves. The current carried him immediately alongside of 
the post on which the boy Ura was hanging. Filial devotion 
lent strength to the boyish arm as he reached, out, and catching 
his father by the hair, he elevated his head above the surface of 
the water . The boy's pleading and piteous cries moved the 
father, and with the reaction came a return of parental love for 
the living. He reached out and caught the post, and there the 
two remained until the next afternoon, about 2 o'clock, before 
the water became low enough to permit them to wade. They 
gradually made their way to the coast, where they obtained 
assistance, eventually reaching the Grand Isle road, over which 
they were brought to New Orleans. 

Eachel Prince and one daughter were the only members of 
a colored family of fifteen who were saved, and their home and 
all it contained was washed away by the flood. Weak from hun- 
ger, the old negro woman and her only remaining child stood on 
the bank and watched the work of the good JSamaritans who 
were dealing out provisions to the white survivors of the storm, 
without making any attempt to get food and drink from the 
supplies on the relief boat. Noticing the miserable looking col- 
ored people, one of the oflScers on the boat called: "What do you 
want. Auntie?" 

"Ise hongry, boss, and dis yere chile, de only one de good 
Lawd spar'd me, is mos' dade for somethin' to eat, sah, but we'se 
only poor niggers, an dere ain't nothin dere for us, I reckon." 

■She was told that the provisions were sent to the storm suffer- 
ers regardless of race or color, and she should have her share. 
Then a ham, some j)ork, tea, coffee, sugar, bread, potatoes and cab- 
bage were given her, and the poor old negro sank down oh her 
knees and while the tears poured over her withered cheeks, she 
thanked God, and the people who gave charity, for the relief 
given her. 

Emile Delgrante was a young fisherman of Cheniere, of 
handsome face and form, and a great favorite on the island. For 
months the young man had looked forward to October 1st, with 
the most joyful anticipation, for on that day he planned to bring 
to the home he^was making, a bride. A pretty girl who lived 
on Chandeleur island, a fisherman's daughter, was Emile's 
sweetheart, and with more than usual ardor the young couple 
loved each other. Delgrante built him a home, and then spent 
his leisure hours until his wedding day making it attractive. He 
made a garden and planted there the flowers his sweetheart 
loved best, and in the little cot that was to be their home, he 



— 76 — 

planned all sorts of devices for the comfort and pleasure of his 
wife, and when the day dawned that was to make the couple 
one, the place made for the bride at Cheniere was unusually 
attractive and seemed to the young firsherman, as he took a last 
look at it before going for the wife to grace it, a veritable para- 
dise. 

Delgrante was married and set sail for Cheniere, and on 
that fatal Sunday afternoon reached their new home. Many 
friends of the couple were there to make them welcome, and sev- 
eral hours were spent in festivity; then the couple were left 
alone, for the storm commenced, and every one sought the shel- 
ter of his own roof tree. 

The happy life planned by those two young lovers was des- 
tined to be brief indeed. The tempest howled about their little 
home and soon it went to pieces, and Delgrante and his wife 
were thrown out into the water that had risen about their house, 
and together they perished. The next day their bodies were 
found on the beach. They were locked in each other's arms — 
united in death as they were in life. One grave was made 
for both,and they were laid to rest on the spot where their lit- 
tle cot once stood, and a few feet away, when the tide is in, the 
sea waves lap the shore and sound the dirge of the dead lovers, 
whose wedding march was a funeral hymn and whose bridal 
couch was the grave. 

The mother of Capt. John Taylor, an old lady nearly ninety 
years old, who lived at Buras, had a narrow escape from death 
in the tempest; and the storm of October 1st, was the third that 
this old lady had weathered, when many of her neighbors and 
kindred found watery graves. She was the only one saved 
of the seven children of her mother from the hurricane of 1811; 
and in 1831 she was blown in a tree by the furious gale that 
devasted a great portion of Louisiana. And to-day she survives 
to tell of the horrors of the hurricane of her infancy, the cyclone 
of her womanhood and the blast of death of her old age. 

An engineer, named Field, on the Fort Jackson and Grand 
Isle Railroad, who took a train out soon after the storm, related 
bis experience. He said all along the track dead animals were 
piled so high they had to be removed before the engine could 
go along its accustomed route, and near Bonner while directing 
the removal of numerous dead animals, a sad spectacle was un- 
covered. It was the body of a babe lashed to a dead calf, its 
little arms still clinging to the animal that went under the waters 
and carried it to death instead of to high ground and safety, as 
some mother no doubt fondly hoped, when she found all other 
chance gone, and ba'de her darling farewell and trusted to the 
animal's instinct to carry it beyond the flood. 

One of the women who escaped the fury of the elements at 
Cheniere had a terrible experience. She clung to a piece of tim- 



-77 — 

ber when the tidal wave swept over the ill-fated island, and was 
dashed inland at a fearful speed; and then when the wind lulled 
just before it veered and swept back, washing houses, and dead 
and living out to sea, she tore up her skirt and catchicg the 
limb of a tree, securely lashed her body to it. Other boughs 
beat her body when the gale recommenced, and great waves 
broke over her and threatened to drown her where she hung 
suspended. She saw great trees and timber dashicg along, 
sometimes seemiug to be swooping down upon her, then just 
when she felt her last moment had come, a merciful Providence 
seemed to intervene, the course of the huge missile would be 
turned, and hope would once more be renew-ed in her bosom. 
Thus she endured the agony of direst terror for five hours, 
then the water receded, and she was left hanging between 
Heaven and earth in such a way she could not release herself, 
and hung thus for a half a day before a party of rescuers found 
her. 

Early on the morn after the tempest a young girl started 
out from Grand Isle in a pirogue, and cruised about searching 
among the stacks of dead, rowing close to every dark object she 
saw floating on the water, and scrutinizing closely everything 
resembling a body and asking of everyone she met, "Have you 
seen Freddie?" 

Freddie Eichein was her lover, and'on that Sunday when 
the Gulf was churned by the most terrible gale that has swept it 
for more than half a century, the young fellow was out on a fish- 
ing expedition and met the fate of many of his neighbors; he per- 
ished in that wind of death, and his body went down to the 
depths of the sea where no human hands could find it to give it 
christian burial. Only the darkness of night sent to her home 
the sweetheart who searched for him, and the first gray of the 
dawo sent her again on her frantic search for her lover. Her 
reason tottered, and it is probable for months to' come that 
maid will haunt the waters about Grand Isle hunting for 
"Freddie." 

St. Malo was made up of a colony of Malays, natives of the 
Malay Archipelago, who had congregated in a village ofjtheir 
own making, beside the waters from which they drew with lines 
and nets the fish and shrimp that made them a livelihood. They 
were a happy congregation of good hearted, simple people, who 
felt, each toward his neighbor, that tender, close feeling of 
alliance, that all feel toward the people of their own race and 
country when far from their native land. Many of these people 
were out on fishing expeditions when the tempest swept over 
the gulf with such irresistible fury, and they ,^sleep their lust 
sleep in the depths of the waters that has been both their best 
friend and their worst foe. At St. Malo, the Malay men, women 
and little ones, had a terrible experience. Their homes were 



— 78 — 

swept away, many of their number were killed, and the survi- 
vors are a few desolate mourning people, who have neither 
homes nor means of making a living, each grief-stricken for the 
loss of near and dear ones, all seemingly with naught to arouse 
again ambition to take up life again with any degree of interest. 

Carlos Ehring, is one of those who lived to tell of the hor- 
rors of that Sabbath night, when St. Malo was wiped from the 
earth by the tempest that spared so little in its path along the 
Gulf coast. Ehring says: 




AT ST. MALO. 

"When the storm came up every one made for my uncle's 
house, as it was the strongest house on the place. There were 
sixty people huddled together in the house, men, women and 
children. Most of the women were praying, and the men were 
trying to comfort them. My uncle had two children in his 
arms; he handed me one of the children, a little giii, about 
two years old. Soon the house began to tremble, and it fell 
with a crash. I felt a rush of wind, and I ran, I don't know 
where, but I found myself in the open air. I heard some one 
calling, and I called and asked who it was, I found that it 



— 79 — 

was John Lewis, a boy sixteen years old. I suddenly thought 
of an old post, used at one time -as a corner post for a house, 
and I made toward it with the child in my arms. I knew there 
was a crosspiece on the post, and I climbed toward it. Then I 
assisted John up the post, wrapping my leg around it, with 
John under one arm and the baby pressed close to my breast. 
With the other I clung to the post. The waves rolled over us 
and the baby cried until exhausted. Poor Johnny was nearly 
scared to death, but I told him not to be afraid, but to cling 
to me, which he did. 

"There w^e stayed all night— from 10 o'clock till daybreak 
next morning. I was terribly stiff and exhausted when I 
reached the ground. Then I found that the house we had 




'.THE MALAY HERO. 

been in was completely swept away, and that out of the sixty 
who were in the house the night before we were the sole sur- 
vivors. I found some whisky and bread, which had been 
washed under the gallery of the house. 

"The child had been crying from hunger, so I soaked the 
bread in whisky and gave it to the child. I could not eat it 
myself. About 10 o'clock the lugger Continental hove in 
sight, and we were taken on board." 

Mr. McDonald, son of the mayor of Pass Christian, had a 
terrible experience, but showed the most remarkable presence 
of mind recorded during the storm. He was in a sailboat in 



— 80 — 

front of Biloxi wben the gale commenced, and was blown over- 
board. There were two sailors and a colored boy on the craft, 
but they were unable to rescue the young man, for their little 
vessel was being blown about like a cork on the angry waves. 
The colored boy threw Mr. McDonald a plank, however, and 
this he grasped and held to and commenced a wonderful 
struggle for life. The waves were mountain high, and he was 
dashed along by the furiously driving wind as if but a feather. 
He wore a derby hat, and with presence of mind and coolness 
that is almost beyond credence, he made the piece of head 
gear answer as a life preserver by catching it full of wind and 
putting it under his chest. In this way the young man kept 
above water for more than an hour, and reached the wreck of 
a bridge where he remained until rescued. Mr. McDonald 
swam almost nine miles in that fearful storm, with only a piece 
of plank and a derby hat to aid him in his magnificent strug- 
gle for life. 

The strength of the tidal wave may be imagined when it 
is known that several porpoises were found in the marsh still 
alive at Tropical Bend, four miles from salt water, where they 
had been washed by the wave. 

A whale, sixteen feet long and weighing several thousand 
pounds, was found washed high and dry on a reef, half a mile 
west of the West Jetty Light, four days after the storm, and 
this wanderer from the deep was still alive and was the object 
of much curious scrutiny until some more practical fisherman 
came along and killed him to get the oil. 

One survivor of the ill-fated Cheniere Caminada was 
picked i;p four days after the storm far out in the Gulf in a 
skiff, without oars or sail, and his face bore the unmistakable 
imprint of the most terrible suffering. For ninety-six hours 
that poor unfortunate had drifted at the mercy of the wind 
and waves, scorched by the sun and chilled by the night air, 
without water or nourishment except a small catfish which he 
caught and ate raw the day before he was rescued . 

One of the saddest and most startling sights that met the 
band that penetrated the swamps after the storm in search of 
wounded and dead was the corpse of Mrs. Geo. Danton. Deep 
in the SAvamps, where the trees grow so close together their 
boughs were intertwined and made a roof of green that kept 
out sun and rain, save in one spot where a giant oak stood in a 
small clear space, she was found . A beam of sunlight found 
its way across a limb of the oak, which was about ten feet from 
the ground, and there, showing in clear relief, in that one ray 
of light in the dark forest, was Mrs. Danton, hanging by a 
tress of her long, raven black hair to the limb, her body per- 
fectly nude, her eyes wide open, with the look of horror in 
them that froze there by the chill of death when she saw the 



— 81 — 

pandemonium about her and realized her deathVas inevitable 
in that furious hurricane. 

The experience of Joseph Frelich, the little Austrian hero, 
could not be told in more beautiful languap^e than that of the 
report of his story as follows, by the New Orleans Times-Dem- 
ocrat of Oct . 7 . It is one of the most pathetic incidents of 
that terrible storm: 

"Joseph Frelich is a hero. With his father and friends he 
had found the remains of his mother during the day, and when 
found by the reporter had just come from her resting place. 
The body had been brought in late, not being found until 
nearly 6 o'clock. The sad scenes at the last resting place are 
described elsewhere. The lad, a mere child, had passed 
through experiences within a few days that would age him 
more than years of natural life. His home was at Bayou 
Cook. There had been seven in the famil} — father, mother, 
three brothers and two sisters. All were at home Sunday 
night when the awful visitation came. Their camp was 
blown down about 10 o'clock in the evening. Joe and Rosalie 
had been always the most friendly of brothers and sisters. It 
was his pride and joy to do for Eosalie all that in older 
persons would have been termed the ofifices of lovers. She was 
his darling and his pet, and when this evening came all his 
love and devotion and all hers were shown. But in how sor- 
rowful and how tender a way. The records of the world might 
be searched without finding more heroism than was shown by 
these simple fisher folks' children amid all the horrors and 
darkness of the night. She had given up her life that her 
brother might be saved ! He was to her the type and acme of 
all that was to be sought as well as her best beloved blood rel- 
ative. When the camp was blown down and all were strug- 
gling for very life in the wild and raging waters, Joe looked 
for Rosalie. They had been separated in the blowing down of 
the dwelling. Rosalie also had her favorite brother in mind 
and when they found one another in the darkness, with glad 
cries they clasped arms and Joe guided her to where a piece 
of the roof was out of the raging current and a little shelter 
was afforded. Soon their frail and insufficient support was 
swept from them, and here Joe began the story which, were it 
known broadcast over this land would render him and his lit- 
tle dead sister famous : 'I cried to Rosalie when the pieces of 
roof to which we were clinging were lost to us to put her arms 
around my neck and hold tight and fast to me. This she did. 
No fear was shown by the little darling. She was as brave and 
as much composed as at any ordinary time . 

Many a time have I had her out in my boats, and she 
knew the water well ; she knew me well too. Once she had 
me strong and good I shouted to her, for notwithstanding we 



— 82 — 

were only a few inches apart, such was the howling of the gale 
that no ordinary tones could be heard, to slip up on my back 
as I struck out to swim, and that I would save us both. She 
smiled at me and pulling my head down kissed me twice. I'll 
never forget how beautiful she looked as she gazed into my 
ej^es for what was the last time. Having twisted herself about 
and securing a firm clasp of her arms around my neck, she 
shouted in my ear : 'Joe, darling, now go quick. I'll help 
you all I can.' 

"Off we were, and water all over us, down into the seeth- 
ing and boiliog waves. Sometimes under, sometimes, for a 
brief time, on the surface ; but we kept up and I began to 
have hope. Big logs came swirling and hissing by us and we 
were nearly forced apart, but still we struggled on. It was 
nearly a mile to land from where we started. We must have 
been in the water half an hour when I was becoming weak and 
faint. I am a good swimmer and the Mississippi River never 
had a better one," and everybody gathered around knew the 
lad was telling the truth, "but the pressure of sister's arms 
around my neck had interfered with my breathing, which, 
under any circumstances, would have been hard enovigh, and 
I was short of wind. I began to go deeper and deeper into 
the foul water ; each time it was more and more difficult to re- 
cover myself and dimness and darkness seemed to be rushing 
through my eyes. Rosalie noticed it. She let go one hand 
and tried in a weak way to help me buffet the waters; but alas ! 
we were making less and less headway. 'Joe, Joe, good-by 
darling : good-bye forever,' she shouted to me. 'Save your- 
self. Good-by, good-by ! ' and she was gone. She had volun- 
tarily sacrificed herself to save me. I caught for her hair, 
Avhich had become loosened and was floating like a beautiful 
mass of the ivy moss. I could not reach her and she swept by 
me. I saw her sink and with all my remaining strength I 
dived down into the black waters. I couldn't see a thing under 
the water, and my strength gone, nearly strangled and ex- 
hausted, I came to the surface . Rosalie had gone. She was 
drowned before my eyes and I couldn't save her. There can't 
be a good Lord. He never would have allowed it." And the 
lad broke down and wept. No wonder. Fresh from the grave 
of a beloved mother and the scenes of his struggle for the life 
of his only love, brought vividly before him by the recital of 
the tale, were too much, and by kindly friends he was led away 
to be taken care of by sympathizing and generous neighbors. 
The body of Rosalie has been recovered." 

A tale of horrible suffering was told by a party that were 
rescued at Southwest Pass, four days after the storm: 

The party was as follows : Leon Torrio, Paul Gautrie, A . 
Terrebonne, Andre Colon, Alcide Pinsene, Dupre Terrebonne, 



— 8S~ 

0. Terrebonne, Joseph Bonette, Alcide Bonnette Alexis 
Croby, an American, named Gaspard, an Australian and three 
Malays. The American, Australian and Malays were picked 
up in Bayou Andre. The others came from Oheniere. These 
unfortunates were all in Torio's house when the wave came that 
carried the house away and threw them into the sea. They say 
that just before the storm the wind was from the east. Then 
it Inlied and the water beg'an to rise very rapidly and the house 
of Torrio was swept away. The nine men clung to planks 
and doors and managed to bind their frail supports together 
in the form of a raft, and on this they floated out to sea and 
met the party from Bayou Andre and they floated about 
for four days before they reached the Pass and received suc- 
cor. Their bodies were parched and swollen and they were so 
haggard and weak they presented a most pitiful appearance. 
All they had to subsist on for ninety-six hours had been the 
dead rats and animals that floated near enough their raft to be 
reached by the starving men, and not a drop of water had 
passed the parched lips of the unfortunates since they had 
been swept out into the storm-lashed waters the Sunday night, 
four days before their rescue. 

The following is from the New Orleans Times-Democrat 
of Oct. 8: 

" Among the passengers who arrived on the Grand Isle 
train, a week after the storm, were two Slavonian fishermen, 
Matthew Culuz and Matthew Eumarich. These men were five 
days clinging to an upturned boat, floating in the Gulf of 
Mexico without a mouthful of food or a drop of water. Emaci- 
ated and bruised, with sunken eyes, hollow cheeks and the 
skin peeled off their faces in large patches, they presented a 
pitable appearance. The men's clothing consisted of a suit of 
underclothing, every other garment having been lost during 
the great storm . 

On their arrival they were taken in charge by the Slavo- 
nian Society and furnished with clothing and medical attend- 
ance. The men were seen at the store of Mr. Baccich by a 
Times-Democrat reporter. They were hardly able to talk, 
owing to their tongues being swollen from the terrible suffer- 
ings undergone. What could be gathered from their incoher- 
ent talk would furnish a tale of suffering and distress which 
would rival any of the best stories of our best writers of naval 
fiction, the difference only being that in the case of these mfen 
it is a demonstrated fact, the condition of the men showing 
plainly that theirs is no ordinary tale of suffering. 

The man Culuz, when he arrived, was not recognized by 
his most intimate friends around the French Market. 

From a stout hearty man of 165 pounds, straight as an 
arrow, he is now bowed down, with stooping shoulders, and a 



— 84 — 

look of despair on a face which must have had an intelligent 
look before the present awful experience. His present weight 
is 132 pounds, a falling off of 33 pounds in five days. His com- 
panion, Matthew Rumarich, is a swarthy heavy built man, with 
a full beard, and twinkling brown eyes, which have not lost 
their lustre, notwithstanding the hardships undergone in the 
last few days. He did not appear to suffer as much as his 
companion, although he complains of his chest feeling sore 
and a difficulty of breathing. 




MATHEW RUMARICH and MATHEW KU1.UZ. 

The men were in their fishing camp on Razor Island, in 
Grand Lake, in the early part of last Sunday's storm, and 
while the water was rising the men, realizing that it was m ore 
than an ordinary storm, pulled up the floor of the camp to 
keep the building from floating away. Ere this work was fin- 
ished the water was several feet deep in the camp . They 
sought refuge in the loft of the house, thinking the building 
would weather the gale. In this they were disappointed,_as in 



— 85 — 

a short time tlie building gave way and they were buried 
among the ruins. Fortunately the house broke up and each 
managed to secure a piece of the wreck. They became sepa- 
rated and Rumarich came in contact with a submerged skiff, 
which he caught hold of, abandoning the rude raft. Culuz 
also floated- close to the skiff, and guided by his companion's 
cries, managed to join him. 

All night long they clung to the skiff, buffetted by the 
waves and drifting they knew not whither . When morning 
dawned they were terrified to find that they had di'ifted out of 
sight of land and were in the open Gulf. The wind had calmed 
down considerably, but the sea, as usual, after a storm, was 
running high and they were still obliged to exert all their 
strength to keep hold of their frail support. Finding that the 
heavy clothes they wore were an impediment to them, holding 
them in the water, they began the work of stripping them- 
selves. This was no easy task, with the waves carrying their 
little craft first high on a wave and then dashing them with 
hurricane force into a trough of the sea. All day Monday the 
men clung to the boat, keeping a sharp lookout for a passing 
vessel. 

Monday night came and went and the sun rose on Tues- 
day with still no change in their dreadful situation. All day 
Tuesday the men held on, still hoping against hope, and al- 
though their bodies were soi-e and every muscle ached they 
still clung to their only support. Through the long hours of 
Tuesday night the men tried to cheer one another, and both 
kept a lookout, with the delusive hope that a passing vessel 
would come close enough to hear their cries. Wendesday 
came and the real suffering of the men commenced. With a 
hot sun beating down on them and the salt spray flying over 
their uncovered backs, their skin commenced to blister and 
peel off, leaving the raw, tender flesh beneath. 

Over the raw flesh the waves would wash ; the sun 
then coming down would still further aggravate their misery. 
Added to this they were intensely thirsty and weak from their 
long fast. 

After dark on Thursday, probablv about 9 o'clock, Rumar- 
ich cried out to his companion in their native tongue: " Nvala 
Bogu ero, svjetlos" — "Thank God, here is a light. " True enough, 
there before them was a lighthouse, and as they had often 
sailed around it they recognized it as being the lighthouse at 
Southwest Pass. The wind was blowing then directly toward 
the light and they looked on their deliverance as being near 
at hand. Slowly they drifted towards the light and were al- 
ready thanking God for their escape when suddenly the wind 
freshened and veered round to another direction and the seem- 
ingly doomed men were again driven out to sea. 



— 86 — 

Culuz then gave way in despair and loosened his hold of 
the boat. His companion caught him by the hair and dragged 
him back to the skilf, saying: "Nebojse." "Dont fear we shall 
be saved yet." After that Kumarich had to use his best per- 
suasive powers to induce his companion to retain his hold. 
Twice Culuz cast himself adrift and each time he was caught 
by his spirited shipmate. 

It was well that he did not abandon the craft, for deliver- 
ance was, unknown to them, close at hand. 

Early Friday morning, at about 2 o'clock, as near as they 
could judge, their feet touched bottom and they waded ashore. 
In walking around the island they saw the light of a lugger, 
lying about a quarter of a mile from the island. 

One of the men, Culuz, although weak and exhausted, un- 
dertook to swim to the lugger, being fearful of taking the 
chance of waiting till morning. He reached the lugger safely 
and immediately a boat was dispatched for his companion. 
Before the boat reached the beach, Michel Sacanogao, who was 
hunting lost friends, pulled to the beach and took off Rumar- 
ich. 'I'hey were taken by the Louisiana, the rescuing boat, 
and cared for. 

Thursday two men were at the landing at Gretna awaiting 
a boat that was en route to Cheniere. One was white faced, 
haggard and desperate looking and when the boat arrived he 
took passage, after bidding his companion an affectionate fare- 
well. The appearance of the man who had left was such that 
inquiry was made of the other as to his identity, and the cause 
of his grief stricken appearance. The man refused to give his 
name, but said, "It is my brother you saw me tell good-bye. He 
has gone to Cheniere, and I shall never see him again, never. 
His wife and five children perished in the storm, and every- 
thing he possessed of earthly value was swept away by the wind 
and waves, and he has gone to commit suicide on the spot where 
his loved ones met their sad fate." 

The men were not alone in their deeds of daring and self- 
sacrifice, women, in many instances, showed wonderful presence 
of mind and fortitude. Mrs. Barbier, the wife of Capt. John 
Barbier, whose camp is on Grand Bayou, proved herself one of 
the heroines that were developed in that night of terror, devas- 
tation and death. Her husband was in New Orleans, and she 
was at their home with her five small children,|the eldest but nine 
years old, when the storm commenced . The little ones became 
panic stricken when the wind shrieked above the house like an 
army of demons; and when the waters rose beneath the build- 
ing and upheaved the floor, it was only by the greatest effort 
Mrs. Barbier succeeded in getting her children on the only piece 
of floor that remained — a small fragment in one coruei:. Just as 
she pulled one frightened little fellow to her, the baby she had 



-87- 

clasped in her arms, was swept from her, and she never saw it 
again; its little body was dashed among the debris, and went to 
swell the list of those who found unknown graves. The house 
was unusually strong and stood the tempest, and all night that 
mother stood in water up to her breast and managed to keep the 
heads of her other children above the waves, while she mourned 
the loss of her babe which was swept, only God knows whither. 
At Savoy there is a house denuded of its eaves. The wind 
shaved them off as cleanly as if some giant instrument had been 
used, yet left the house itself otherwise uninjured. 

George Seferovich had a terrible experience. The big 
waves from the Gulf rent his home in bits and threw him, his 
wife and two children into the foaming, storm-lashed waters. 
Before his very eyes he saw a huge piece of timber crush his 
wife, the mother of the two children he was struggling to save. 
He heard the wails of his little ones for the mother they loved, 
and his own heart echoed their cries, yet he fought for life for 
the sake of his little ones . One child climbed on his back and 
clung round his neck, but finding the huge waves that ever and 
anon broke over them, were strangling the child, he seized it by 
its clothing with the same hand that held up the other, and 
struggled toward a tree. When that haven was almost reached, 
a big cypress log swooped down upon them, and struck the 
child who he was supporting by its dress. The brave Austrian 
felt the shock of the awful blow it received, and he longed, yet 
feared, to learn the extent of his darling's injuries. The wind 
shrieked above them and the rain beat upon them fiercely, and 
almost exhausted, Seferovich pulled himself and his children up 
into the tree. Then he looked into the face of the child who 
had been struck by the cypress log. It shown white in the dark- 
ness, and no heaving of the tiny bosom told the anxious father 
that his darling still lived. The form of the little one stiffened 
in his grasp. Its soul had winged its flight to the mother, gone 
just before. All night the brave Austrian hugged the bodies of 
the dead and the living child; and there he was found in the 
morning, stupid with grief and exhaustion. 

Francoise La France, a man of magnificent phisique, and 
wonderful strength by reason of his tall, well proportioned stat- 
ure, and muscles that were hardened by daily toil, saved his wife 
and four children from the ruin of their home at Riceland, but 
his first born, a sturdy little fellow, who was the pride of his 
parents, met his death in a horrible manner . When the roof 
began to cave in, Mr . La France called to his family to leave the 
building, and himself caught the rafters and heavy boards on 
his broad back, and prevented their crushing his wife and younger 
children. When he supposed his dear ones were all out of his 
home he struggled out into the storm himself and hurried with 
his family to the home of his nearest neighbor where his first ex- 



clamatlon, as he staggered across the tliresliold, was "Thank God 
we are all saved." But the mother's eye missed one from the 
number of her family. Michel, the oldest boy, was not there. Back 
through the fierce wind and driving rain the frightened parents 
went, accompanied by their neighbors. The work of removing 
the wreck and searching for the lad was commenced in the dark, 
with the mother's wails to urge them on to their task. Finally, 
the little fellow was found, pinned down by heavy timbers, and 
just as his crushed body Was discerned some one appeared with 
a lantern, and its yellow light fell across the mangled form and 
showed the mother her boy pinned to the earth, with one eye 
squeezed from the socket, and one little hand extended, and fast 
stiffening in the clasp of death, with a rafter across it, that 
showed the flesh and bone crushed to a pulp when it was removed. 
After the child was taken from the wreck he was cari'ied by his 
father, followed by the mother, whose cries could be heard above 
the din of the storm, and the sympathizing friends who went 
with them to the house they thought would be a haven of safety 
for all, until the boy was missed. The next morning, a rough pine 
box was made, and the mangled body was laid in it and carried 
to a spot of high ground and laid to sleep, the sleep eternal, with 
only the sobs of his mother and the dull thuds of spads patting 
the earth on other graves all about to break the depressing silence 
that hovered about that scene of desolation, 

Charles Dennette, a negro, who lived at Happy Jack, fifty 
miles from New Orleans, was in his humble home when the wind 
became furious, and his family clung to him and begged to be 
protected from the "wrath of ole Marster." The roof of the 
Jiouse was blown off and carried into a neighboring cornfield and 
Dennette bade his family get out of doors as the house was sure 
to fall upon them if they did not leave it. All but two of the 
family escaped to the yard before their home caved in, but two 
children were crushed beneath the fallen timbers, and then were 
cremated by the fire that started among the debris. The rushing 
winds fanned the flames until, but a few moments later, nothing 
remained to Dennette of his home or the two children burned 
with it, — not even the ashes, for they were blown far and wide. 

Among those who were doomed by that fatal storm was a 
gentlemen from New York, whose name is not known, for all 
those who had been wont to associate with him passed beyond the 
possibility of giving their evidence. He came from the North, 
and left his home and kindred who were dear to him, to seek 
health in the balmy southland. The breezes of mild tempei*- 
ature at Cheniere had wooed back to the stranger the strength 
he sought, and he lingered with the people who had been his 
companions for a half a year, because he had grown attached to 
them and their beautiful land, and he was slow to bid farewell 
to the scenes where he had found health and strength. But the 



— 89 — 

storm came and is now but a memory, and the family of the 
straoger in the far North will look in vain for his return. He will 
go home never more. His body rests with a host of others in a 
shallow grave dug by a band of good Samaritans who laid to rest 
the victims of the great storm. Instead of gaining a new lease 
of life down among the orange trees and salt breezes, the north- 
ern stranger met death and an unknown grave, — death in a 
strange land with no loved one near, the sad fate the Hindoo 
ever fears, and that he prays may not befall his friends in his 
benediction "may you die among your kindred." 

Near Fort Jackson the receding waters left a sad spectacle 
for the band of rescuers who came that way soon after the storm. 
Caught in a barbed wire fence were the bodies of three little 
girls, sisters no doubt, tor the same brown curls clustered around 
the faces of each, and the features were strongly similar. Each 
held one hand of the other in a close death grip, and they wei'e 
not separated by those who dug the shallow grave in which they 
were placed. Side by side the Jittle girls were laid upon a litter 
of planks, and green boughs covered forever the sweet iaced 
dead children who went together over Death's river, and the 
strong men who piled the boughs above their bodies were not 
ashamed of the tears that trickled down their rough cheeks as 
they buried, without coffins, shroud or burial service, some 
mother's darlings, some father's pride. 

When the first light dawned of the coming day that was to 
reveal in all its hideousness the desolation and ruin created du- 
ring the darkness of that Sabbath night, Mr. Fred Sfcockfleth 
heard a plaintive sobbing out in the shadows of a pile of debris 
that was being tossed by the falling waters. Wondering if there 
could be any living being among that stack of wreckage, lie called 
"Is any one there?" and a weak baby voice sobbed "I is,'' and 
another childish tone added, "and me." There were not many 
minutes between the time when those little ones were heard cry- 
ing miserably out on the dark water, that was ruffled by the cold 
morning air, until brave Fred. Stockfleth pushed his way on a 
plank, to their sides. There, crouched on a huge log, were two 
children, a boy and a girl: the boy, who was evidently two or 
three years older than his little sister, was about eight years 
of age. With one arm around the shoulders of the sister whose 
long blonde curls were crushed against his shoulder, that little 
fellow had alternately begged "don'c cry, sister," and then sobbed 
pitifully himself, for hours, while the log on which they drifted 
was many times almost careened or sunk, by others. Their baby 
tongues lisped this broken story to Mr. Stockfleth, of some of 
their trials out in the darkness and danger of that night, but 
neither could tell what their names were. Only "sister," and 
"buzzer" had they been taught to call each other, and when an 
effort was made to learn what name their parents were called by, 



-00 — 

tlie cries of the children for "Mamma" and "Papa," were so piti- 
iful their new friends desisted in their efforts to learn their iden- 
tity; and nuless some acquaintance sees and recognizes these lit- 
tle waifs of the storm they will have to go through life without 
the knowledge of father, mother or kindred, unacquainted even 
with their own name. 

Nick Salotich and John Perovich. two of the survivors, 
worked among the injured and buried the dead near their camp 
on Bayou Cook, all Monday, and late in the evening rejoiced in 
the discovery of some hard tack and fresh water, which they 
found in a portion of a wrecked lugger. On this meagre refresh- 
ment they subsisted until Wednesday, when it gave out, and they 
started toward the city for succor. They had not proceeded far 
when they discovered two objects on the sandy beach, weakly 
moving, and hurried to discover who the beings were, and to 
help them, if possible. They found Nicholas Micisich, and John 
Descovich, both bereft of their reason. These unfortunates had 
managed to save themselves from the watery grave their families 
found, but their fate was far worse than if they had succumbed 
to the wind of the hurricane of three evenings previous, for 
they had been so bruised and battered they found strength only 
to descend to the beach the next morning, and there they had 
lain for three days. The limbs of the tree to which they 
clung through that night of terror, had bruised and battered 
their bodies, and broken their bones, leaving only a remnant 
of life that would have been better taken. The sun the 
next day shone brightly on their bodies from which the clothes 
had all been torn off, and their flesh scorched and blistered 
in the heat, and their blood coursed madly through their 
veins from the fever that slowly consumed their vitality. 
Their tongues parched and swelled and cracked and hung 
bleeding from their mouths, and their eyes almost burst from 
their sockets; and while their voices lasted, they buried their 
bruised hands in the sand, in excess of agony, and cried aloud 
for water. Visions of pools of the life-giving elixir that is 
brewed in the clouds floated before them, but while they vainly 
struggled to reach the limpid depths that would have been to 
them the greatest boon, like the mirages of the desert, they 
kept ever just beyond reach and goaded them to madness. 
Springs seemed to gush up from the burning sands beside 
them, and the cool waters sparkled in the sunlight, and the 
spray, like a vail of mist between, seemed almost to dash in 
in their very faces; but when they put out their hands 
for just the few drops their palms would have held, 
the spring vanished; they were but the result of their 
fevered fancy. Night came, and the stars looked down on 
them, and to the bloodshot eyes of the crazed men, seemed 
like fiery torches that added to their fever, and yet failed to 



— 91 — 

keep them from shivering when the night air struck their nude 
and burning bodies. They raved aloud until their tongues 
became so swollen they could not speak, then their senses left 
them — they became insane. In this awful plight they were 
found Wednesday evening by Salovich and Perovich. Human 
help came too late to relieve the agonies of Macisich. A few 
moments after he was found, his swollen, blackened body was 
relieved of pain by the Master's hand. He was dead. Desco- 
vich lived to reach a neighboring camp where he was carried 




Sisters of Charity on Picayune Relief Boat, 

by his rescuers, and food and water were given him, and physi- 
cians who saw him later say he will probably recover his 
strength, but his mind, never. His reason has forever for- 
saken him. 

Capt. Elie Peters and Philip Peters, of the schooner Ees- 
cue, had a sad and thrilling experience. The vessel capsized 
in the early hours of Monday morning, and Capt. Peters and 
his brothers Allan and Philip clung to a piece of lumber, from 
which they were repeatedly washed until they succeeded in 
getting on to a piece of square timber and were carried out to 
sea. They were at the mercy of the waves for three days and 
nights. On Wednesday Allan gave out and went down. On 
the evening of the same day Capt. Peters saw the waterlogged 
lugger Raphael Raymo, of New Orleans, with two young men 
on board. He and Philip got on board the lugger and bailed 
her out, rigged up a sail from some old canvas, and steered 



her as best tliey could, her rudder being lost. This work took 
until Thursday morning. They were exposed to the elements 
four days and nights without food or water except two cans of 
tomatoes found on the lugger and a little rain water licked up 
from the deck. To Capt. Peters is due the saving of Philip 
and the two young men on the lugger, as well as himself. He 
repeatedly helped his brother Allan back on the stick of tim- 
ber when the seas would wash him off, often letting go and 
swimming out after him, but all to no purpose. He kept 
Philip with him to the last, and by his courage and fortitude 
managed the lugger until land was reached. The two youths 
in the lugger had abandoned all hope and given up. 

In one place a lugger was found after the storm in a dense 
forest more than a mile from the water, where it had been car- 
ried over the tree tops on that great tidal wave, and left were it 
now stands. To launch it again, a road would have to be chopped 
through the woods, and the vessel would have to be hauled 
overland for a mile before it could be floated again. The ap- 
pearance of a big lugger resting in the midst of a dense forest, 
where no human skill could have ean-ied it, is novel. It must 
have been carried on the water above the tops of the tall 
trees, and then left where it now is, and allowed to gradually 
settle down to the earth as the water receded. 

In what is left of the handsome orange orchard of Louis 
Clugigola, toward the northwestern portion of Grand Isle, 
there were seen and recognized the fragments of furniture and 
household goods from Cheniere Caminada, while above them 
in the wind-whipped leafless branches of the trees were flutter- 
ing the tattered fragments of little children's clothes that had 
been driven some six miles from the Cheniere, grim and sor- 
rowful reminders of the cold and merciless impartiality of that 
terrible cyclone. 

There was but one white person drowned on Grand Isle, 
although the tempest blew with such terrific force over the re- 
sort it levelled to the earth almost everything there, and when 
the water from the sea swept over it, houses and hotels, trees 
and furniture were carried out in the Gulf. Several colored 
people perished on the island, but Madame Victor Rigaud, was 
the only white person there who was sacrificed to the warring 
elements during that storm that will doubtless prevent Grand 
Isle from ever again attracting the idle pleasure seekers to its 
shores. She was a highly respected old lady who had first 
seen the light on the island, and who had seldom left it during 
her lifetime. She was the wife of one of the descendants of 
Lafitte's crew, and the couple lived in a house that was over a 
hundred years old, and which contained many relics of a by- 
gone jiirate's collection of curios and handsome spoil that 
fell to his share from Iqoting expeditions, among them five 



— 93 — 

copies from originals by Eaphael and Le Brun. Only six weeks 
before the storm a Northern visitor offered the old man $4000 
cash for the five paintings, and he refused to sell thtm. They 
had been in the family, he said, for generations, and no amount 
of money could buy them. He valued them because they 
were valuable, but more because they were heirlooms. When 
the storm came the old man gave his attention to his own life 
and his wife's. They both clung to the roof of their house as 
long as they could, but Madam Rigaud was swept off and 
drowned. 

The name of Lawrence Lawson, the lighthouse keeper at 
Grand Isle, should be preserved as a hero, for that night when 
the winds beat down houses and trees that had weathered a 
century's storms, and sent to the depths of the sea, sturdy ves- 
sels that never before were injured by the tempests of the deep, 
brave Lawrence Lawson stood to his perilous post of duty when 
it seemed as if his allegiance to his task must be met with death. 
In the teeth of the gale, with the roar and rush of the wind 
about the lighthouse, sounding like the booming of cannon, and 
above it the shrieks of the people who were being dashed to 
death, the keeper climbed the narrow stair-way and kept burn- 
ing the light that shone far out on the boiling waters, and that 
gleamed, a beacon of hope, to the struggling beings who were 
being tossed about on the seething waves; and many there were 
who say that but for that one light that shone in the black of 
that stormy night, they must have perished. But ever and anon 
as they rose to the top of some foam crested wave, they saw the 
beacon beaming and renewed their grasp of the plank or tree 
that kept them from the jaws of death. The people of Grand 
Isle speak the name of Lawrence Lawson reverently, and agree 
that he played the part of a hero in his performance of duty that 
awful night, and strong men and little children send aloft in 
their prayers to the Almighty petitions for the Divine blessing 
to ever rest on this noble, fearless fellow. 

Of the family of which Mme. Sandras and her cousin, John 
Valence, were members, they alone survive, of their fifty odd 
kinspeople who lived with them at Cheniere Caminada. 

The pilot boat Underwriter picked up Gladimer Lafond, a 
fourteen year old boy, eighteen miles off South Pass lighthouse, 
eight days after the storm. The poor little fellow was in a piti- 
able condition, having drifted about on a plank in the Gulf 
eight days without food or water. He was unconscious when 
found, and not until liquor had been poured down his throat did 
be show any sign of life, and then he only roused sufficiently to 
give his name and age, and to say he, with his father and mother 
had lived at Cheniere, and they had taken refuge on a lugger 
when the storm burst in its fury, and the vessel had been cap- 
sized by the wind, and he alone was left to tell the tale. 



— 94 — 

Mr. Mendona's house was demolished, but a cabin in the 
rear withstood the attack of wind and waves. He was absent 
on a trip to the city for provisions when fhe relief boat visited 
his place, but his wife, Constantin, a very handsome and edu- 
cated lady, who spoke excellent English, told a graphic story 
of the storm to a Times-Democrat reporter: She with her 
daughter, Mathilda, a beautiful little dark-eyed miss of ten 
years, and her sister were in the hovise when the storm came 
on a little before 9 o'clock. From the manner in which the 
big house swayed and shook during the storm, they quickly 
determined that their only chance of escape lay in retreating 
to the smaller cabin. The water was dashing over the high 
gallery that connected the two buildings, but they clung to the 
narrow walk as they crawled along on their hands and knees, 
and finally reached the cabin, hardly knowing how they did so. 
They fastened the doors and windows tightly, feeling that they 
had made they last stand against despair and death. 

"We can only pray," said Constantin Mendoza to her sis- 
ter and daughter. The swaying of the cabin had thrown the 
clock and the lighted lamp, which stood on the same shelf, 
half way across the room and they were in blackest darkness, 
fearing every moment that the great waves, which were now 
making clean breaches over the roof, would bring it down upon 
their heads, while th(( immense volume of water that was roll- 
ing under the house threatened to burst open the floor or tear 
the whole structure in pieces. Mrs. Mendoza groped about for 
matches, and ultimately finding them, she lit the candles on 
the little alter, and setting the example herself, she exhorted 
the others to pray for divine aid. The altar was only a little 
cracker box, neatly cover with wall paper, having a crucifix 
and decorated with scriptural pictures. 

It was firmly fixed to the wall and when the candles within 
it had been lighted tney threw a dim shaft of pale yellow light 
into the thick and almost palpable darkeess of the room. 
Then, with the wind striking wildly as it swept through the 
inky darkness of that awful night, the mountainous waves 
roaring and thundering on the trembling beach and lashing the 
slender walls of the cabin till they bent and fluttered like the 
sails of a schooner in a tempest, these three dark- eyed women 
knelt upon the heaving, quivering floor, right in the path of 
that shaft of yellow light and it strangely illumined their dark 
oval faces, which seemed to come out of the surrounding dark- 
ness with an effect weirdly suggestive of the supernatural. 

Then came a demand for further action. With a small 
hatchet they chopped the thin board flooring and soon they 
were waist deep in the heaving water. The black waves rose 
and fell as they lapped and splashed the furniture in the dark 
corners of the room, but still the candles, set deep in the altar 



— 95 — 




— 96 — 

their flames almost toiicbin J? the crucifix, threw that shaft of 
dim yellow light out upon the dark heaving water that threat- 
ened to swallow them up. and stilJ, though chilled to the heart 
with terror and bitter cold and deafened by the dreadful roar- 
ing of the hungry seas as they thundered along the low-lying 
beach and swept across the broad levels of sea marsh, they 
turned their pale faces up to that dim light, while their blue 
and quivering lips moved in prayer. Thus they prayed and 
wept and waited for dawn. It came at last and the storm 
passed away with the darkness. Though the tempest had 
swept away about all that thrift, industry and good fortune 
had converted into a happy and prosperous home for the Men- 
doza family, they were happy and thankful that Monday morn- 
ing's svin brought to them the knowledge that no breach had 
been made in the home circle. 

Perhaps one of the most thrilling experiences of the storm 
was told by a woman who drifted in to shore lashed to a log. 
She, her husband and two children had taken refuge on board a 
schooner anchored outside of Bayou Cook, and intended to ride 
out the gale. When the wind came from the west, followed by 
a mammoth wave, the husband and two children were washed 
overboard, and the lugger's mast, snapping off at its foot, drifted 
from the side of the vessel. The frantic woman jumped for the 
floating timber and in some way lashed herself to it. All night 
she drifted through Adam's bayou and the neighboring bays, 
and when daylight came she was picked up by the lugger Venus. 
She was brought to Mr. Fred Stockfleth's, half naked, starved 
and terribly bruised about the body, and half crazed with grief for 
the loss of her husband and children. 

Villechere Vinet, who lived on Bayou Challon, with his 
father, mother and brother, took refuge on a raft, and they 
were tossed about all through that night of terror, in the dark- 
ness, wind and rain. When the day dawned, the father caught 
a pirogue that floated near, and entered it to go for aid for his 
family. He had not gone two boat lengths when the frail craft 
overturned, and the father went down to rise no more. The 
mother sprang to the edge of the raft and waited several min- 
utes, gazing on the water for the re-appearance of her life com- 
panion, but he was fast in the sea weed in the depths beneath. 
Then she leaped into the bayou and was again united with her 
husband, this time on the shores of Eternity, to part never more. 
The eldest son seeing both parents drown, leaped from the raft, 
and he, too, found a watery grave, leaving only the last member 
of the family, the boy Villechere, to tell the story. He was 
picked up several hours later, dazed with grief and half dead 
from exhaustion. 

There is but one member of Emile Prosperi's family of six- 
teen to tell how the storm beat against their home and the fate 



— 97 — 

ii meted out to the others. A boy ten years old is the survivor. 
He, with his father, mother, brothers and sisters were seated 
about a table on which a lamp burned brightly, lighting the 
pages of the old family bible from which the father read the 
usual evening lesson to his family. The wind howled more 
fiercely as verse after verse of the good Book was read, until the 
voice, that told the story of the death that gave to mankind hope 
beyond the grave, was drowned by the war of the tempest. 
The house trembled and swayed as the great tidal wave rose 
rapidly beneath and around it and beat against its walls. 
Stricken with sudden terror the family rushed toward the attic, 
but the ten year old boy who survived, was slower of motion 
than the rest, and to this fact he owes his life. Before he reached 
the stairway the other members of his family had ascended, the 
floor was upheaved, and before he realized what was happen- 
ing, he was borne out on the flood, and into a tree a hundred 
yards beyond. Then he saw a tiny flame shoot up from the. 
half collapfed building then another and another, until, in a 
few moments the wild scene about was illumined by the 
flames, that started by the overturned lamp, enveloped Pros- 
peri's home. The cries of the family j^enned in the garret were 
borne above the howling of the tempest, and the boy in the 
tree clung to the branches and watched the burning funeral 
pyre of his loved ones, and was found by a rescuing party the 
next day. 

Mrs. Frank Kranz, Jr., a daughter-in-law of the hotel pro- 
prietor of Grand Isle, lost one hundred and fifty relatives in the 
storm. Among them was her sister, the wife of John Valence, 
of Cheniere Caminada. When the survivors at stricken Cheniere 
were counted Mrs. Valence, who was shortly expected to become 
a mother, was missing. Her body could not be found, and she 
was enrolled among those who had found a grave in the waters 
of the gulf, or whose bones were blf-aching in the trackless sea- 
marsh of the shore. Five weeks after the storm the crew of a 
lugger dancing over the dimpling waters of the gulf descried a 
dark spot on the blue water twenty miles from land. The lug- 
ger's course was altered and it bore down upon the object. As 
it approached the crew made out the object to be a raft and on 
it a motionless figure; its dress proclaimed it a woman, its 
posture announced it dead. But these fishermen resolved to 
give it christian burial and took the raft in tow and made for 
land. 

By the clothing the body was recognized as that of Mrs. 
Valence. Swept to sea on that awful night, she had managed, 
in her desperate struggle for her own life and that of her unborn 
babe, to gather a few planks of the wreckage and construct the 
rude raft iipon which her body was found. The thought of this 
helpless woman alone, in her condition, upon that night of 
death, was awful enough, but when tender hands sought to lift 



— 98 — 

the emaciated body from the few planks which bore it up, the 
full horror of her fate was seen. By her side lay the naked 
body of a new born babe. On a frail support of a few rough 
planks, tossed on the waters of a storm lashed sea, with the de- 
mon of the storm as the only attendant, that young life was 
ushered into the world, to die. What pen can paint, what 
imagination can picture, the awful fate of that helpless woman, 
slowly starving to death on that awful expanse of water with the 
wails of her famished babe ringing in her ears ? Mother and 
child had perished from starvation. 




Archie Williamson, A Hero of Caminada. 

While the storm was raging on that awful night and death 
was riding abroad on the wings of the wind the crossing of the 
electric wires in the city of New Orleans caused the fire bells to 
ring continuously through the night. Not with the rapid 
clangor of the fire alarm, but with the slow and measured toll 
of the "passing bell." The weirdness of that eerie sound cannot 
be imagined, much less described. 

Borne on the pinions of the rushing wind each mournful 
stroke smote on the hearing of the startled listener with a fu- 
neral sound, ominous of disaster. And so it proved. The latest 
found element of nature tolled the knell of the hundreds of vic- 
tims who, on bay and bayou, in marsh, swamp and prairie, on 
the shores of the river, the coasts of the gulf and the islee of the 
sea, were falling before that awful Wind of Death. 

riNis. 



^^CheniQiG Caminada." 



Copies mailed, post paid, to any address for 
25 cents. 

^IJ^Agents wanted everywhere Liberal com- 
missions paid. 

Address: MISS ROSE C. FALLS, 
910 Magazine Street, 

New Okle.\ns, La. 



WOOD, SCHNEIDAU & CO., 

WHOLESALE AND RETAIL. 

Steamships, Steamboats, Flaiitatiotis, Rice Mills, Cotton Presses. 
Foundries, Dealers and Families Supplied. 

MAIN OFFICE -43 Oarondelet Street, 

COAL YARD.— Foot of Race Street on Levee. 

Telephone 576. NEW ORLEANS, LA. 

CHARLIE WOOD TRANSPORTATIOH CO. 
ELMER E. WOOD ^TRAHSPORTATIOIT CO. 

CZ:::^ TUG- BOAOTS =5^0 

W. M. WOOD, CHARLIE WOOD, 

ELMER E. WOOD. 

TO^V^ING DO^JE AX RK-A-SON ABLE RATES 

MAIN OFFICE LEVEE OFFICE 

43 Carondelet Street. Foot of Julia Street. 

Teleplioae 5T6. Telephone C4:a. 



A. M. & J. SOLARI, Limited, 

27, 29 & 31 Royal Street, 

NEW ORLEANS, LA. 



November 8th, 189H. 
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN : 

"We have just received an entire fresh stock of all kinds of Fancy 
Family Grocei-ies, lioth foreign and domestic. 

We would be pleased to- show you our capacious stock when in the city, 
or send you one of our catalogues, from which you can gain some idea of our 
very large assortment. We can safely say, without fear of contradiction, 
that we carry the finest line of Fancy Groceries in the United States. 
In our catalogue we do not put prices, as we always give the prices of the 
day on which inquiry is made. Should any items lie wanted not in our line, 
we' will cheerfully get same and ship with your orders, thereby saving you 
some little extra charge. We pack and deliver all goods to depots free of 
char-^e. Yours truly, A. M. & J. SOLARI, Limited. 



THE FINEST AND BEST 





FOR SALE BY 

L Grunewald Co., Limited 

137 Canal Street. , 



LOWEST PRICES! 



EASIEST TERMS. 



ORGANS AND MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS OF EVERY DESCRIPTIOl| 
SEND FOR CATALOGUE. 



- 



»»»»»»»» ■*■- 



1?KE OLD RELIABLXi. 

Louisville and Nashville R.R. 

LIMITED EXPRESS DAILY 

IN PULMANN VESTIBULED CARS. 

TO 

Moiitg'oniery, Birniiiig^liam, 

Nashville, Louisville, 

Cincinnati, Atlanta, 

Jacksonville, Wasliing^ton, 
Baltimore, Philadelphia 

and ENew York, 

Through Without Change. 

Our limited vestibule service from NEW ORLEANS TO NEW 

YORK without change makes several hours the quickest 

time to competitive points. 

NO EXTRA FARE WILL BE CHARGED ON THIS TRAIN. 

Dining Cars Attached and Meals Served en route. 



City Ticket Office, corner St. Charles and Com- 
mon streets. Depot Ticket Office, foot of Canal st. 

JOHN KILKENY, Div. Pass. Agent. 
C. P. ATMORE, G. P. A., Louisville, Ky. 



F. CODMAN FOUD, Agt. 

BUILDING SPECIALTIES, 

REPRESENTING 

Northwestern Terra Ootta Co. 

Pioneer Fire Proof Oonstrnction Co. 

Akron Roofing Tile "Works. 

The Hydraulic Press Brick Co. 

Star Encaustic Tile Co., Ltd 

W. H. Evans & Sod's Italiaa M Tennessee Marlile, and MarWe Mantels. 

FIRE CLAY FLUE LINING IN STOCK aud by CAR LOADS. 
ARCHITECTURAL TERRA COTTA. 

Finials, Crestings, Bevel Plates, 

Hip Rolls & Chimney Tops, Leaded and Art Glass, 

In Stock and by Carloads. For Doors and \Vindo>vs. 

Estimates and Designs Furnished on Application. 

jg@-OFFIOE AND SHOW EOOM, 63 BARONNE STREET,--^ 

WAREHOUSE FOOT OF UNION ST. 

Telephone H51 Bos M. D. & L. Ex. 104. NEW ORLEANS. 

Wid. LEON LAfflOTHE & CO, 
Wholesale & Hetail Liquor Dealers, 

S3 ST. CHARLES ST., 

NEW ORLEANS, LA. 



PROPRIETORS OF 

LEON'S EESTAURANT, 23 St. Charles St., 

Where the best of the market is served. Cuisine unsurpassed, 
and its cellar stocked with the Finest Wines. 

And ST, CHAHLES BAE HOOM, Icwer Botunda, St. Charles Hotel, 

and COMMEBCIAL BAB, Cor. Camp and Commercial Place, 
Where are served the Finest Wines and Liquors 
in the South. 

Hot Lnnch from 11 A. JM. till 1 F*. IVt. 



WHAT IS THEA-NECTAE, 1 

It is the Finest Tea Imported. Try 

it once and you will use no other. 

THEA-NECTAR 

is the Finest Flavored Pure Natural Leaf Tea ever 
offered to the Public. It is a Black with a Green 
Tea Flavor, and is a selection of the choicest 
leaves from the Best Tea Districts. It will suit 
all tastes. It is cured upon porcelain in the same 
manner as if prepared tor native consumption. 
It is delicious in flavor, perfectly healthy, of full 
strength and very economical. 

One Pound of this Tea Mailed (o any Address on receipt of 75 cents. 

Main Office: 182 Canal St., 

Cor. Ui3iversit7 Place, 

BRANCHES : 

609 Magazine St., 

and 440 Dryades St. 

Telephone 701 . New Orleans, La. 




THE GREAT 

ATLANTIC AND PAeiFIG 

TEA CO. 



3Iauufacturers of 



J. H. KELLER'S SOAP WORKS, •x■ox3Ll:E3^E■ ssk:>a.ie'!S, 

Office, 110 GRAVIER ST., New Orleans, La. 

The highest Market Price paid for TALLOW, GREASE and OILS, Correspondence solicited. 





Iq orderin' from your Grocer or Direct from us. state Keller's Brand and Size Bars to 
box and if wrapped or unwrapped. Do not accept substitutes from your Grocer tor our Brand. 



imiL^^ 



Lj% 



Corner Canal and St. Charles Streets, 



©sri 




i^llM' 



USED OVER THE BAR 
ARE AS PINE AS CAN BE HAD. 
ttespectfully, 

L. C. WILT, Proprietor. 

cl® Mm VlllHW^- 
CROCKERY, 

PLATEI> WARE 



AND HOUSE FURNISHING GOODS. 
IV o. 168 Canal Street, JV^etv Orleans, La, 









OFFICE AND RESIDENCE, 

2To, 1041 MAGAZZXTS STB.SST, 

NEW ORLEANS, LA. 

Hours : — Until lo A. M. and from 2 to 4 P. M 

JNO. C. & CHAS. A. WICKLIFFE, 
ATTORNEYS AT LAW, 



^E=L<DCD10CL IS, 



IDeneg-re JB-U-ilciiiagr, \ 



NEW ORLEANS, LA. 



GOOD WORK. 



LOW PRICES. 



PRINTING ^ OFFICE, 



20 and 22 Commercial Place, 

Near St. Charles St., .... NEW ORLEANS, LA. 



All Rinds of Printing Done at the Lowest Prices. 



JOHN P. HOPKINS. 



Se^wer and Oiilvert JPipe, 

FIRE BRICK, FIRE TILE, 




FIRE CLAY, FLUE PIPE, CHIMNEY TOPS, AND ALL 
KINDS OF FIRE CLAY PRODUCTS. 

O - UIVIOIV STP^JEET, - 9 

P. O. Box 1615. NEW ORLEANS, LA. 

FACTORY PRICES FOR CA.R LOAD LOTS. 



HENRY KAHN. 



Telephone 964. 



LAZARE LEVY 



KAHN & LEVY, 



AISTD 



COMMISSION MERCHAHTS, 

111 & 113 PoydraS St., New Orleans, La. 

p. O. Box 1059. 



J8@°^ Best attention paid to purchasing Goods of all kinds. ; 
Consignments of Cotton, Sugai-, Molasses, Rough Rice, Hides, \ 

Wool and all Country Produce Respectfully solicited. \ 

1 

CRESCEITT CITY ! 
Moss ^ Ginnery, : 

Office, 52 DECATUR ST., ! 

p. O. Box 395. 1 

I 

SOL. STERN, Manager. i 
NEW ORLEANS, LA. \ 

WACKERBARTH, JOSEPH & CO , j 

Established 1866. ! 

'i 
MANUFACTURERS OP j 

Office and Salesroom, No- 43 Magazine St, I 

i 
Factory, 93 & 95 Julia Street, ! 

NEW ORLEANS, LA. ' 




AlTD CAFE RESTAURANT, 
13 & 16 Royal Street. Near Canal St., 



NEW ORLEANS, LA. 



Cosmopolitan Annex, 

16 & 18 Bourbon St. 

Now in course of construction. Will be ready 
January ist, 1894. 



THE FINEST LADIES RESTAURANT IN THE SOUTH. 



i^ ^3 



'd 



REAL ESTATE BROKER 



mmM 



129 Common St., 



New Orleans. 



Oypress and. Fine Lancls for Sfile, 

LARGE TRACTS DF VIRGIN FOREST, 

Jter-SEND FOR CIRCULAR. 



S. D. Wood, Elmer E. Wood. Will H. WooJ. C. W. Wood. 

B, D, WOOD & SONS, 



®#®I mM§ Xtwia 



No. 92 CAHAL STREET, Morris Building, \ 

NEW ORLEANS. LA. j 

1 

OFFICE OF TUGS B. D. WOOD & ELLA ANDREWS. I 

Plantations, Steamboats and Stsamships | 

SUPPLIED AT LOWEST MARKET RATES. j 



BRANCH YARD, PLAQUEMINE, LA. 

Capt. A. J. CARTER, - Manager. 



Ladies' and Gent's Restaurant ^f Hotel, 

DELICACIES OF THE SEASON ALWAYS OIV HAND. 

102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 108 Customhouse Sts., 

NEW ORLEANS, LA. 
Breakfast, 4r0c. Dinner, 50c. LAWRENCE PABACHER, Piop. 

PHCENIX HOUSE, 

No. 96 St. Charles St., next to Academy of Music, 

IMPORTED AND DOMESTIC 



p. J. CALDWELL, - Proprietor. 
NEW ORLEANS, LA. 



GEO. JURGEHS, 



Successor to FRANK RODER & CO., and EDMOND DUBOIS. 



^ Tmwom's: 



r^ 



Wholesale Liquor Dealer, 



39 TCHOUPITOULAS STREET, 



^w ©laiiM®. 11. 




"Trade /I^^ark, 



P^H^c 






E. H. CHAFFE, President. E. F. Del LONDIO, Vice Pres. & Xreas. 

R. A. BAIRD, Secretary. 

R. H. CHAFFE & CO. Ltd., 

HiOULisiatxa.^. IVEcDlatssos 

44, 46, 48 SOUTH PETERS ST., 

F>. O. Box SO. NE;^V ORLKAlSrS. 

RIGHT IN IT ALL THE TIME. 
Best Goods. liowest Prices. Q,uiclvest Service. 

;8®"Send for samples and quotations. 




Is the Largest General Store in the South. 

Only the Best Goods liaiulled, and at the lowest possible 
profit. This Estal)lishment comprises many stores in one. 



Silks, 




Shoes, 


Books, 


Carpets, 


Laces, 




Fancy Goods, 


Stationery, 


Curtains, 


Dress Goods, 




Black Goods, 


Handkerchie 


ifs. Blankets, 


White Goods, 




Wash Goods, 


Notions, 


Pictures, 


Meii's H»ts, 




Millinery, 


Hosiery, 


Men's Furnishings, 


Cloaks, 




Boy's Clothing, 


Muslin 


} Linens, 


Dresses, 




Corsets. 


Underwear, 


J' Flannels. 




Etc., 


Etc. 




Etc. 



We can fill yovir order as promptly as if we waited on you in person, 



and will please you as well. 



155 CANAL ST. 



i 91 ^ 



^ 



(Formerly ST. LOUIS HOTEL,) 

ON EUROPEAN PLAN. 

B^-LOCATED IN THE HEART OF THE OLD FRENCH 
QUARTER OF THE CITY. 

FOUR BLOCKS FROM CAKAL STREET. 

Thoroughly * Refitted * and* Modernized. 

ROOMS FROM $1.00 UP." 



( i 



NBW ORLEANS, LA. 



JOS. A. SHAKSPEARE. JULIAN M. SWOOP. 

Shakspeare Iron Works, 

SHAKSPEABE k SWOOP, Proprietors, 

219 - GIROD STREET, - 219 

NEW ORLEANS, LA. 

Steam [ngines, Sugar Mills, Saw Mills, 

"V-A.OXJXJl^ I^ -AGISTS, 

STOBE FRONTS, DBAINING MACHINES, CENTRIFUGAL 

MACHINES, COLUMNS, VENTILATORS 

AND GRATE BARS. 

J8@- Every Eescription of Machinery and Blacksmith Wcrk.''^a 

A. K. Miller, Meletta & Co, 

STEjlMSHIP A!(D SHIP AGEf(TS, 

Room 5. COTTON EXCHANGE BUILDING, New Orleans, La. 



Liverpool Office; 4 Tower Chambers. 

Cable Address: "Miller." 
Use Scott's or Watkin's Code and Appendix. 

Agents for "Glynn,'' "Serra," " Larrinaga" and Lam- 
port and Holt Lines of Steamers between New 
Orleans and Liverpool, Hamburg American Pack- 
et Co.'s Steamers between New Orleans and 
Hamburg. Cuban Steamship Line, between New 
Orleans, Antwerp and London. 

6®" Agents British and Foreign Marine Insurance Co , Limited. 



IIIISIIII, BIOS, k C 

MANUFACTURERS OF THE CELEBRATED 



La Belle Creole, 
El Belmont, 



o 
^ 






Mardi-Gras, 
Jackson Square 








2^^Standard Brands of Unvarying Excellence, 

CEi^ GENERAL FAVORITES. ^^^E) 
Factory, MAGAZINE and JULIA STF. 

NEW ORLEANS, LA. 



illf 1 llOf ill 



99i\ 



XilMlTiCX), 



Wholesale •:•:• Grocers, 

AND COFFSE IMPORTERS, 

103, 10t>, lOT^ L^afaj ette »ts., 

NE^A^ ORLEANS, LA. 



DIRECTORS 



J. B. SINNOTT, Pres't & Gen'l Mj 
W. H.^CANTZON,|Sec'y & Treas. 



GEO. C. BOHNE, Vice-Prest. 
W. L. SAXON. 



WfJ^K'^^U^^ ^^^^^^^^ ^wSI^^jIMV^ 



This Great Newspaper is published evert/ day in the year. 

It is the Brightes , Best and Cleanest Paper issued in the South. 

It Leads all other Southern Papers in enterprise and completeness as a Newspaper in all departments. 

It reaches the homes of the People, and has their confidence and support. 

IT HAS THE LARGEST CIRCULATION AND 

IS THE BEST ADVERTISING MEDIUM. 

It leads in All Reforms and measures for the good of the South and Humanity. 
Its System of Gathering Netns has been perfected by Tears of Experience and Liberal Expenditure 
of Money necessary to promote a Great Paper, 

THE SUNDAY PICAYUNE 

Is especially interesting in its literary features, containing Tales and Poems from the Best 
Writers, Special Contributions from Pen and Pencil of Talented Authors and Artists, in ad- 
dition to the NEWS OF THE DAY. 

THE WEEKLY PICAYUNE. 

This mammoth 16 page paper contains ALL THE NEWS OF THE WEEK, the latest and most 
reliable Market Reports and Commercial News, more Special Telegrams and Items from South- 
ern States, particularly Louisiana and Mississippi, than any other paper. The Weekly Pica- 
yune ia published every Thursday morning, and reaches all Subscribers for Sunday Reading : 

THE DAILY PICAYUNE. 

DAILY (INCLUDlNa SUNDAY), 10, 12, 16, 20, 22 or 24 Pages. 
Twelve Months $12 00 Six Months $6 00 

SUNDAY PICAYUNE, BY MAIL, 22 or 24 Pages. 
Twelve Months » $2 00 

WEEKLY— SIXTEENJ^ PAGES. 
Twelve Months $1 00. 

NICHOLSON & CO., Prop'rs Picayune, New Orleans, La, 



Utx'JSToTT. I ESTABLISHED 1868. ^ i^- ^- po^^hs^ne. 



A. A. WOODS & CO., 

General Insurance OfTices, 

37 Carondelei St., Cor. Gravier, 

Opposite Cotton Exchange, 

'New Orleans, La. 



Dwelling and Sugar House Risks Especially Solicited. 



-^^^^ 




DnticHENOftANTISEPTIC 



or 



e. 



WOUNDS. BURNS. BRUISES, SCALDS, COLIC 
Cramps, Cholera morbus 6i flux 
^ eOLie, BOTTS (& ron>^ o 



HORSES & MULES. 



r*/ "Kier^f/ti- 1 



•d 



II 



Proof of the Pudding is in the Eating. 

SEE HOW OUR HOME DRUGGISTS BUY. 



n 



New Orheans, La., Jan. Ist, 1891. 

Gentlemen : — Please enter our order for One Hundred 
gross Dr. Tichenor's Antiseptic. 

I. L. LYONS & CO., Druggists. 



New Orleans, La., Nov. 3rd, 1891. 
Gentlemen : — Please deliver to us at your earliest convenience, 
One Hundred gross Dr. Tichenor's Antiseptic. 

FINLAY & BRUNSWIG, Druggists. 



New Orleans, La., Oct. 30th, 1893. 

Gents: — Please enter us for another One Hundred gross Dr. 
Tichenor's Antiseptic. E. J. HART & CO., Druggists. 

SHERROUSE UEDICINE CO., Ltd., 

Manufacturers aud Proprietors, NEW OKLEANS, LA. 



/ 



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014 646 169 4 



